


The Red Bear and the Blue Lady

by Philliwolf5



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: #CastleBlack, #lustatfirstsight, F/M, Winterfell, giantcouple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 11:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6903553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philliwolf5/pseuds/Philliwolf5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the moment she rides through the gates of Castle Black, Brienne feels his gaze. She sees the big bear of a man, and wonders at the desire she feels to distraction. The red Wildling makes his interests known, without doubt, and when she finally takes him up on his offer, she finds he is wild in more ways than one. Inspired by the events in episode 4 of season 6.</p><p>DISCLAIMER: I do not own Game of Thrones, nor do I receive compensation for this work.  Characters, places, and lore belong to George R. R. Martin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Throners! After watching Episode 4 of this season, and watching Tormund Giantsbane eye Brienne with very obvious interest in his eyes, this idea came to me. This is my very first GoT fic, albeit a oneshot. Hope you enjoy it anyway. Let me know what you think!
> 
> EDIT: Brienne is a virgin both on the show and in the books. I changed a couple sentences to reflect this. Tormund will be her first. Yay!

**Castle Black, Brienne's chambers**

Brienne lay on her back, eyes closed, biting her lip through gasps and hitched breathes and stifled moans. She would not cry out, no matter the difficulty. She had resolved not to, even as her body jerked and trembled.

Further down, comfortable against the furs of her bed was a great bear of a man. His red hair glinted in the hearth's fire, his face hidden as his head moved against her. Wet, sloppy, _sinful_ noises from his mouth could be heard, but Brienne could not focus enough to be repulsed or embarrassed.

He had told her he would be good, that she'd feel pleasure the likes of which she'd never felt before. She hadn't believed him. But as she writhed under a swirling tongue, large, restraining hands, and masterful, suckling lips, Brienne regretted her cynicism.

**3 days ago...**

He’d been staring since their brunch that day, when she’d been in the company of her charge, Sansa Stark, Pod and Sansa’s brother, Jon.  The big, red Wildling man had hardly looked anywhere else, his eyes devouring her even as his mouth devoured the chicken leg in his hand. 

And _still_ he watched, his clear, green eyes following her as she moved about the castle grounds. 

It seemed that any time she was near, she was under his scrutiny, his eyes boring into her.

It should have been unsettling for Brienne. But it took a lot more than that to unnerve the heir of Evenfall, and she'd taken it all in stride. He'd been easy for her to ignore, what with plans to reclaim Winterfell beginning to take shape.

But then he'd caught her doing training exercises in the courtyard. He'd approached her from behind, coming to stand much closer than was decent between strangers as she finished a few swings at a practice dummy.

"Need a sparring partner?" his deep voice had rumbled, a grin visible through the thick, red beard he sported.

Brienne had regarded him with cold eyes. "No, I do not. I am fine on my own. Thank you." She had turned away then, a dismissal that _should_ have been obvious, but the large man had kept his place, making it impossible for her to resume.

"Was there something else?" she'd asked, annoyance clear in her tone.

The Wildling had kept the same suggestive expression. "Maybe I should rephrase my question."  Then he'd stepped even closer, if that were possible, his eyes fixing on her legs and moving to her incredulous gaze. "Need a _fuck_ partner?"

Brienne had balked, honestly taken aback by his bold statement. She had started to speak, a refusal on the tip of her tongue, but the words just wouldn't come. Her mouth opened several times as if to speak, but had closed again each time.

The man smirked down at her, and she noted how rare it was to encounter someone taller than she. "You look like you could use a ride. I know _I_ could, and I think we'd suit each other very well." He'd leaned in. "I promise you'll like it. I'm _very_ good," he'd whispered with certainty, and Brienne had felt her face burn, his words setting her cheeks ablaze.

She'd jerked back, pinning him with narrowed eyes. "I highly doubt that, sir," she had managed, finally finding her voice just before sidestepping him and beating a hasty retreat. She had avoided him after that, her face heating every time the large man invaded her tortuous thoughts.

For it wasn't discomfort she'd felt.

It was shame, shame for being tempted to take the Wildling up on his offer. She had felt the pull of him the moment she'd ridden through the gates of Castle Black with her lady Sansa and met his appraising eyes. Even then, he'd seen through her.

Brienne didn't get offers from men often, if at all, not for sex and certainly never for marriage. She was no fool. She knew how men felt when they looked at her. She knew she was not like her lady, lovely, fair, and fine of bone, a prize for any man.

She was Brienne of Tarth, or Brienne the Beauty as men sarcastically called her. Only she was no beauty. She was large of body, strong and willful. She'd killed men both large and small, and that was intimidating.

And what men were intimidated by they tried to shame and mock to preserve their meager manhood.

There was the one time when a man had approached her, one of her fellow knights.  Brienne had known it wasn’t due to mutual interest.  He’d only seen her as a challenge, as a _beast_ to tame, something to tell his fellows over drink and debauchery. 

As he’d fondled her in the darkness of a smelly old barn, clumsily fitting his fingers in unready places, she’d felt disgusted, both by his touch and her allowance of it.  Eventually, she’d stopped him and left. She deserved better.

She’d gotten no pleasure from anything they’d done, had certainly not attained release.  The whole affair had been a waste of time, and neither participant had sought each other again.

But this man, someone whose name she could not recall even hearing…in his eyes she'd seen a desire for her she'd never seen from any other. Sure, it was most likely only lust, but it had been there all the same.

And she could not deny that his words had haunted her mind, and stirred a desire of her own.

Brienne had agonized over the few days since, struggling between staying focused on the very dangerous situation developing in the North and tamping down her growing craving for indecent activities with an unknown man.

She finally couldn't take it anymore. She'd risen from her hiding place in her chambers and gone to find him, her feet carrying her to his location as if by instinct. He had been in a conversation with Jon Snow, the two speaking in hushed tones, presumably about their plan for the storming of Winterfell.

The moment she had stepped into the doorway, green orbs had risen to find hers. She hadn't tarried, just stayed long enough to meet his eyes, hold them, and leave.

She'd retraced her steps back to her quarters, leaving her door ajar as she'd taken a seat on her bed to wait. He'd seemed the clever type. Surely he would take the invitation for what it was.

It wasn't a long wait.

He tapped tentatively on her door before peaking in. When he'd seen her, sitting on the bed, he'd dipped his large frame under the lintel of the door, stepping in and filling the space with his presence.

She heard him bar the door and her anticipation rose quickly. He said nothing, just speared her with his eyes as he approached, hands coming to the fastenings of his fur garment. Clothing dropped, marking his path to Brienne, who sat frozen on the bed, watching his advance.

By the time he towered over her, his chest was revealed, wiry red hairs beaconing her hands. Brienne was unsure how to begin, though her desire was written on her face. The Wildling could see it, because he drew her hands into his own, and placed them on his chest.

She watched in wonder, as if she were a child touching a stallion or shadow cat for the first time. His chest was hard, chiseled from years of combat, and hot to the touch. It was hard to imagine such heat on a person in a cold place as this.

He let her feel to her hearts content, watching her face with hooded eyes as her hands ran across his chest and down to the firmness of his stomach. When her fingers brushed him below, his jaw clenched, and he stopped her.

He came to sit next to her, and he began to remove her clothes then, slowly. It was almost more than Brienne could take, and she finally stirred her frozen fingers to life, helping him. Soon, she was naked, and he coaxed her to lie back against the down pillows.

She was unsure what he was going to do at first, since he still wore his fur britches. But then he maneuvered her legs over his large shoulders.

"I can't wait to hear you moan for me," he'd said, his voice raspy.

His arrogance had annoyed her, and she had frowned. "I do _not_ moan," she had responded.  She hadn't before.

He'd then laughed huskily as she'd felt the first touch of his mouth. "We will see, my lady."

And this is where Brienne found herself, her hips moving unconsciously with the rhythm and motion of that mouth, his scratchy beard tickling and warming her quivering thighs. Her hands clutched the covering of the bed, nails digging.

She was sure she's worn a trench in her lip, biting as she was. It was getting harder and harder not to utter a sound. The sensations were like none she'd ever felt. She hadn't known such pleasure existed.  The man hadn't lied.

He was good. He was _very_ good.

Strong hands atop encircling arms held her hips fast, limiting her movements so she was left with no other recourse but to submit. When Brienne looked down, she saw his eyes were closed, peaceful, in ecstasy. She heard him grunt and purr against her flesh, almost as if _he_  were on the receiving end of the act.

It dawned on Brienne that he _liked_ doing what he was doing.

Soon she felt the tightening start in her belly, at the crown of her sex where his mouth worked most ardently. The pleasure was mounting, and a small squeak left her mouth unbidden. She couldn't help it, and soon she couldn't summon enough to care about it.

As if sensing her imminent orgasm, he increased the pressure of his mouth, his hands clamping harder, enough that she would probably have bruises. Neither cared, least of all Brienne.

She was spinning. Her mind was rolling as if she'd tasted the most potent of wines. With each brutal stroke of his tongue, each powerful pull of his lips, she was teetering on the edge of oblivion. She couldn't think, could not comprehend anything but that act, that moment. And soon she was adrift.

She fell. Her release slammed into her hard, and Brienne climaxed with an arched back and a long, wanton moan low in her throat. He held her fast, his mouth working her through violent spasms until she was still, save for minor aftershocks that sent slight tremors through her thick thighs and body.

Brienne was breathless, replete, body fluid and formless.  She barely registered him shifting, the slide of clothing from his lower half onto the floor.  Then he climbed slowly up her body, stopping to caress and suckle her breasts to the tune of her labored breathing.  When he was face to face with her, his grin showed even in the low light of the room.

"Looks like I win, my lady."

She could hardly move, let alone make words. Brienne made no move to deny his claim. She did moan after all.

The big man laid a wet kiss on her neck, raising his mouth up to her ear. "By the way, my name is Tormund." She felt his tongue stroke behind her lobe, his teeth grazing the shell.

She closed her eyes as she felt his erection against her, the blunt head of his length beginning to breach. She knew even without seeing that he was large there as well.

"Br-Brienne," she managed to breathe.

He moved back to look at her face, smiling just before he took her mouth.

Then he was inside her, and Brienne was lost to deepest pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I depicted their personalities correctly. I imagine Tormund to be fairly confident about his prowess, given his stories he tells without shame. I would also imagine Brienne being either struck speechless by the audacity of the man, or not being phased at all. I chose a combination of both. I ship these two so hard, although I sort of wanted her with Sandor Clegane after that epic fight. We all know how that ended though. Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne wakes up with Tormund and has to examine what her feelings are for this Wilding man who is unabashedly smitten with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovlies! I just want to thank you all for the amazing support you've shown for this story! I've gotten so many comments and kudos, I just can't tell you how encouraged and excited I was! Thanks so much for reading, and I am so happy you're liking this! Anyway, here's chapter 2. Not sure where I'm going with this, but I hope you enjoy it! Please let me know what you think! Thank you! :)

She woke up slowly, her mind a fog in the early morning.  It took her longer than usual to realize where she was and even longer that she wasn’t alone.  Brienne opened her eyes when her hand brushed against an arm that was larger and decidedly hairier than her own resting across her hip.

A small gasp escaped when her memories all came rushing back to her.  Despite this, her shock lay more with the fact that Tormund had stayed.  He’d slept and spent the entire night with her after they’d had sex.

Brienne wasn’t experienced, but she’d heard things before.  Didn’t men usually leave after the deed was done?  She’d fallen asleep quickly after, exhausted and sated beyond measure. But to find him still in her bed as the sun was starting to lighten the sky...that had been the last scenario she had expected to be confronted with.

As if sensing her wake, and her increasing distress at the aftermath of the previous night, the large Wildling stirred, the hairy arm across her sliding up to her stomach and pulling her back against him.

That’s when she felt it, the hardness against her backside.  She stiffened up, unused to waking up in such a way.  It caused Tormund to laugh lowly as he leaned in to nuzzle Brienne under an ear.  “Still skittish, my lady?  After all that we did?” 

His lips fell to the side of her neck, where he began to nip and suck at the soft skin there.  All the while, his arm held her close, his hand drifting down to the dark blonde curls crowning her womanhood.

He growled against her, and she couldn’t help closing her eyes at that noise, so primal and sexual. 

“You’re already so slippery,” he murmured, pleased with himself as thick fingers dipped.  “Maybe you like me after all.”  He grinned.

“That remains to be seen,” she half muttered as her breath stuttered.

Tormund laughed.  “Oh, but I like you.”  His hand left her, and Brienne felt a moment of disappointment.  But not for long.

Tormund brought his palm to her backside, sliding along under her thigh and gripping her just below the knee.  Guiding her leg forward and up, he shifted slightly, positioning himself.  “I like you _a lot_.”

Brienne’s head leaned back in time for his other hand to catch her under her chin, wrapping about her neck, his thumb turning her face toward his.  He caught her mouth in a searing kiss as his hips drove forward.

* * *

Brienne woke for the second time.  Tormund was awake, lying next to her comfortably and without a single concern, watching her as he always did.  How long had he been there, she wondered.  She knew it was high time for her to rise.  The morning was nearly spent.  She should have been up hours ago!

Truth be told, she was surprised no one had been sent to fetch her.  How would she explain herself to Lady Sansa?

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a maiden?” Tormund asked suddenly, catching Brienne completely off guard. 

She looked at him then.  His green eyes were casual, but she knew he was serious about his question. 

“I would have been more gentle with you had you said,” he told her.

“Are you really so shocked by that?” she asked, genuinely curious.  Yes, it had hurt, a lot if she were honest.  When Brienne had stiffened on his entry, Tormund had pulled back to look at her, his eyes wide with shock.  But by then they had gone too far to stop.  So she’d bore their first time with gritted teach and an occasional grunt.

She’d wondered if this were the extent of the act, if the women she’d overheard gushing over such things had been exaggerating just to tease her as so many had done.

But Tormund had been determined not to leave her so unsatisfied.  He’d continued to pleasure her throughout the night, and by the time Brienne had fallen into an exhausted, sex-drunken slumber, she had come to the conclusion that sex was not so unappealing after all.

“Yes, I am,” he answered.  “An impressive female like you would be highly desired among the Free Folk.”  His eyes appraised her as they had so many times since they’d met.  “With your strength, you have much to offer the right man.”  His eyes came back to her face.  “Much to offer me.”

Brienne couldn’t hold his gaze.  It was too intense with feelings to which she didn’t know how to respond. 

The old hurts whispered at her, and she was reluctant to relive them.  But he had asked.  With what they’d shared, she may as well tell him.  Rising and beginning to dress slowly, she began.

“I am ugly,” she stated flatly.  “I have always been ugly.  Boys and girls alike were put off by my appearance, and I was often the target of their bullying and insults.  It got worse as I came of age, as my skill with a blade outgrew my skill with a curtsy.  Men didn’t know what to make of me.  Women feared their reputations if they were seen near me.  All were intimidated.  Even children were advised to leave me alone.  I was a pariah.”

She slipped on her breeches and gambeson, but waited to don her armor.  “My lord father recognized that I would never be a prize to form an alliance with some great house through marriage.  But he loved me as no one ever has.  And so, in the absence of male heirs, he declared me the inheritor and cultivated my already intense interest in combat.  With those skills I served as Kingsguard to Renly Baratheon before his murder, which I have since avenged.  I escorted Jaime Lannister to King’s Landing, and made my vow to Lady Catelyn Stark to see to the safety of her children.  I intend to uphold that vow, and that is the reason I am here with my lady Sansa.”

Her eyes briefly met Tormund’s.  “I had neither time nor inclination to spread my legs for my own pleasure or gratification.”  Her face held sadness she failed to wholly conceal.  “Regardless, with my looks, I never had offers.”

She turned away, and Tormund suddenly felt like a cunt for having asked.

He rose from the bed, naked as he was born, and padded quietly across the stone floor to stand behind Brienne as she contemplated all she’d revealed to him.  His large hands held her upper arms, and she could not help the thrill that ran through her at his touch.

“Never understood Southern customs,” he muttered gruffly, leaning forward to nuzzle her under her neck and reveling in her body’s response.  “They throw away a perfectly good woman, ‘cause she's not frilly enough.”  He pressed his lips to the back of her neck.  “I’d keep you.”

Brienne blushed, again unsure how to respond.  Tormund was obviously very smitten, something he’d made clear since he’d laid eyes on her.  But she’d never experienced this before.  It had always been she who had fallen for men, not the other way around, and none had ever returned her feelings.

This was something unknown to her, something she didn’t understand, and it made Brienne uneasy.

Suddenly feeling closed in, she moved out of Tormund’s embrace.  He let her go, not wanting to frighten her.  She was strong-willed and fierce as any Wildling woman he’d met.  This is what drew him to her when he’d seen her ride in through the gates. 

But he was wise in remembering that she wasn’t accustomed to their ways, to _his_ ways.

So reluctantly, Tormund backed off.  He’d let Brienne choose the pace, which direction they went.  Truth be told, they had more important problems to work out, particularly what they were going to do about this Ramsey Bolton he kept hearing about.

From what the Stark girl had told them, he was quite the shit.  He’d done some pretty terrible things, even by Southern standards, and Tormund was as sure as everyone else that he needed to die.

Reminded, he too began to dress, following Brienne’s example.  When they were both ready, each went their own way to attend to their duties.

* * *

“You have risen very late this morning,” Sansa commented as Brienne entered the main hall to break her fast.  She sipped some ale, grimacing at the swill she couldn’t seem to stop drinking despite its horrible taste.

“Apologies, my lady,” Brienne replied with a bow.  When she raised her eyes, she was dismayed to see a very amused, very _knowing_ look on Sansa’s face.  Turning away, she pretended to examine a map of the North.  “Have you met with your brother this morning?”

Sansa sobered.  “I will meet with him shortly.  I have another matter to attend to.”  She stood from her chair.  “I have been informed that Petyr Baelish is in Molestown and has asked for me to meet him.”

Petyr Bealish?  That snake!  “Will you go?” Brienne asked.

“I will, but only so I can look him in his eyes when he confesses his knowledge of Ramsey Snow and his ways.  Will you accompany me?”

“Of course I will.” 

After their meal, the two set off on the short journey to Molestown, both curious as to what Littlefinger would have to say.

* * *

Brienne tried to calm a noticeably shaken Sansa after their meeting at Molestown.  With merely a word from her lady, she would have happily cut the lying little man down where he stood.  But Sansa had felt merciful. 

She had still been upset by the affair, at having to relive her mistreatment at the hands of Ramsey.  But after they’d returned to Castle Black, and over some hot food and drink, the girl had been more conversable.

Unfortunately, the subject of their conversation took a turn for the embarrassing.

“So, it would seem you have changed your opinion of ‘that Wilding fellow with the beard.’” Sansa playfully stated, making Brienne nearly spit out her water.

“I have _not_ , my lady,” the lady knight quickly denied with a cough. 

“Well, it certainly doesn’t seem that way, what with rumors of you both being seen leaving your chambers together, not to mention your tardiness this morning.”

Brienne felt her face color for what felt like the hundredth time since she’d come to this accursed castle.  “Well, my lady…he and I…”  She sighed.  How did one explain such an intimate thing to one’s charge?”

Sansa waited patiently. 

“I do not know what to make of Tormund,” Brienne explained.  “I’ve never met a man like him before.  Ever.  I know he likes me.  He says some of the sweetest things anyone has ever said to me, man or woman.  But I don’t know…what should I do?”

Sansa averted her eyes, stirring her stew with a forlorn face.  “You are very lucky,” she said lowly.  “He is nicer to you than my ‘husband’ ever was to me, nicer than he and Joffrey combined.  There was a time I would have done anything for something like that.” 

Seeming to snap out of it, she brought her eyes back to Brienne’s face.  “I say it’s a good thing.  You’ve been mocked and insulted all your life, Brienne.  This man actually likes you, and from what I’ve seen, his affection is considerable.  Give it a chance.”  She smiled in encouragement.

Brienne considered her words with a nod.  They ate in companionable silence after, both with much on their minds.

* * *

She shuffled her way back to her quarters, genuinely exhausted.  The day had been long, especially with the lack of sleep she’d had the night before.  Maybe she’d get more rest tonight.

Brienne’s mind inevitably strayed to Tormund, and she found herself wondering where he was at the moment.  She reined herself in.  It concerned her not.  They had had one night together.  That did not suggest there would be more. 

But why did she feel displeased at that thought?

Her door opened on groaning hinges, and she walked through to find the object of her thoughts lying in her bed, clothes discarded on the floor, sleeping as though he belonged there.  He even had the audacity to be snoring!

Closing the mouth she hadn’t noticed was hanging open, Brienne considered waking him up roughly and running him out for his presumptuousness.  She was a warrior, a noble, _lady_  warrior at that.  Her reputation dictated she not accept such behavior.

But he looked so comfortable, and given their previous activities together, it wasn’t wholly unexpected.  She couldn’t deny that she secretly rejoiced at seeing him again. 

Naturally she’d never tell him that.

And as she approached, she also could not deny that Tormund Giantsbane was very handsome, his rugged features relaxed in sleep.  It would be a shame to wake him.

Brienne pulled off her armor as quickly and quietly as she could.  Her gambeson and breeches were next, until she was only in her smallclothes.  Feeling suddenly shy, she pulled a nightshift from her effects, only to start when she heard a sleep-roughened masculine voice.

“Come like that,” Tormund ordered.  She turned to find him staring, his green eyes sleepy but alert.  “It’ll be warmer.”

The castle was rather drafty.  Blushing, Brienne approached, and he pulled the covers back in invitation.  After a moment’s hesitation, she joined her lover.  Was he her lover now? 

She considered the question as she was enveloped by the heat of strong, thick arms, warm breath against her neck as he buried his face against her. 

“About time you came to bed,” he murmured against her, and she suddenly felt lips and a hot tongue lave her skin.  Perhaps he wasn’t as sleepy as she thought.

The kisses became more fervent, his hands beginning to roam, and it was Brienne who finally turned herself over to give him access to her mouth.  He kissed her thoroughly, practically breathless, before purring against her lips.

“Did my lady miss me?” he grinned playfully.

“Hardly,” she answered before dragging his mouth back to hers.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The force leaves Castle Black on their mission to unite the North against the Boltons. Tormund and Brienne must separate for a time, and have to evaluate their growing feelings (Tormund's are already grown, lol).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Red Bear and the Blue Lady
> 
> A/N – My goal was to get one chapter out a week, but I failed. Sorry about that. So here is the 3rd installment. I certainly hope you all like it. It’s a little more sappy. I tried to show a bit of a change in feelings. If I’ve gotten any details wrong, or if it doesn’t seem in character, please feel free to let me know. I want to keep up the momentum of good reading. I appreciate any input. I mentioned a character I loved in this chapter, one I am SO GLAD is back. Spoiler. I guess…? Thanks for all the faves, follows, and especially the reviews! They give me life! :)

 

They were to leave with the morn.  It had been decided that Jon, Sansa, and their company of men would ride out to garner support from the various houses in the North.  Once that was accomplished, they would have the strength to take back Winterfell.

Brienne had listened grimly.  It was a lofty endeavor indeed, and she only hoped that they could accomplish half of that and make it back safely.  She was especially upset by the fact that she would be separated from Sansa.

The girl had elected to go along with Jon and his group while Brienne journeyed to House Mormont with Podrick.  It was utterly ridiculous.  Brienne’s whole purpose in coming here was to protect Lady Sansa! 

Brienne had tried to bring the matter up with her charge, but Sansa had brushed aside her concerns, saying that she trusted Jon, that this was the only way to take back what belonged to her family.   Brienne’s only option was to follow orders.

She didn’t have to be happy about it though.  So she went to eat, a frown on her face.  As she sat, shoveling food she didn’t taste, she thought on Lady Catelyn and hoped, wherever she was, that she was at peace. 

 _I_ will _protect your children_ , Brienne thought, remembering Renly Baratheon and feeling herself become more determined.  _I swear that this time, I will_ not _fail_.  She would defend Sansa even unto death, and if she survived, she would find the other Stark children as well, and bring them home to safety.

She felt a heavy weight drop down next to her, and she looked, only to roll her eyes when she saw it was Tormund, looking at her with his usual grin on his face.  The fool certainly smiled a lot, she thought waspishly.

She turned her attention back to her food, divided within herself as to whether she wanted the company or not.  She needed to think, to figure out how to be most useful to Sansa.

But the intimacy she’d shared with the Wildling had made her unconsciously crave his company.  She hated to admit it, but there was the truth of it.  He had come to her bed every night since.  She knew it was irresponsible.  She didn’t need rumors and conjecture when they had important matters of life and death to attend to.

But Brienne found she didn’t care quite as much anymore.  They would go to war soon, and despite her skills she could meet her end in any of the battles to come.  Why not be happy for once?  Her life had been one hurtful encounter after another.  Why not enjoy this man, for however long she had with him?

It was the last night they would see each other for a while after all.  He was going with Sansa and Jon.  She was going with Pod to Riverrun.

She nodded internally to herself.  Yes.  Whatever this was between them, she would take it for what it was worth.  She remembered her Lady’s encouragement, and the way Tormund looked at her sometimes when he thought she didn’t notice. 

At least it seemed he cared.  No other man had ever looked at her that way.

She summoned a small smile, difficult as it was.  “Have you eaten?” she asked him.

Tormund’s face registered his surprise at her concern for him.  “I have.  I’d just finished when I saw you walk in.”  He considered her for a moment.  “Are you alright?”

“I’m perfectly fine.  Why?” 

He was looking at her with an odd expression.  But then he shrugged.  “Nothing.”  He sat patiently while she ate the rest of her food.  When she rose, he remained seated, watching her.

Brienne walked a few steps, noticed Tormund was not with her, and looked back at him.  “Coming?” she asked, annoyance on her face.

His face lit up.  Even with the past few days, he was careful.  She’d seemed in an odd mood, so he hadn’t wanted to overstep.  Standing quickly, he followed her out of the hall.

* * *

 

She lay against him, her ear to his naked chest as she listened to the strong thrum of his heart.   She felt spent and utterly relaxed.  The steady beat comforted her.

Tormund breathed in her scent, nuzzling the short blonde strands before laying a kiss on her head, caressing from her back to her buttocks, where he let his hand rest. 

They lay in thoughtful silence after having made love for so long they’d lost track of time.  Sometime during, the night had come, and the castle had started to settle into quiet.

“You know,” Tormund began, his deep voice cutting into the silence.  “I once bedded a bear.”

Brienne tilted her head to look at him cynically.  “What?”  When he grinned down at her, she sighed.  “Should I even ask?”

He chuckled and launched into the story of Shella, and how she’d bitten off part of his manhood.  “It’s a good thing for you, I’d wager.”  He squeezed the firm flesh under his hand.  “Would have been too much for a delicate Southern lady like yourself.”

Brienne rolled her eyes and shook her head.  She was far from delicate, and he was far from small.  “That has to be, without doubt, the most ridiculous story I have ever heard.” 

He grunted.  “Wait until you hear about the time I scaled the great wall to fight the Crows.  Now that was a grand time.” 

She couldn’t help smirking at him for his tall tales.  Companionable silence crept on them again, and her smile faded as her mind grasped a memory.

“I once fought The Hound,” she murmured. 

“A dog?” Tormund asked.  “What?  Rabid?”

“No, not that type of hound,” she explained.  “The Hound, Sandor Clegane, a freakishly large man from a house known for cruelty.  His own brother burned him, ruining half his face.  Podrick and I encountered him accompanying Arya Stark near the Eyrie.  I tried to take her with me, to keep my vow to Lady Catelyn, but the lout wouldn’t let me.  So I fought him.”

She burrowed further against Tormund, a shiver running through her as she remembered the ferocity and brutality of their battle, of the man whose burnt face she’d never forget.  “He was a worthy opponent, one of the strongest men I have ever fought.  I am lucky to have walked away from it.  I very nearly died.”

“Well, I definitely feel lucky,” Tormund chimed.  “Couldn’t have met you if you died.  What happened to him?”

Brienne sighed.  “We’d lost our blades in the struggle.  So I beat his head with a stone, and he fell off the edge of a cliff.  I expect he’s dead.”  She hadn’t gone to make sure.  Besides, who could survive a fall from that height?  But with his tenacity and vehemence, who knew?  She dismissed the thought.  As long as she never saw him again, Brienne didn’t care.

“Afterwards, I went to find Arya, but she had disappeared.”  She shook her head with regret.  “If only she’d come with me.”

“Nothing to do about it now,” Tormund comforted, lifting her face to look at her.  “Least you’ve kept her sister alive.”  He brought his lips to hers, kissing her deeply.  “I’ll say one thing,” he said as they parted.  “You’re better than Shella ever was.”  He smiled. 

She giggled despite herself, and his hand returned to her backside, moving her more into him.  Impossibly, he was hard again, and Brienne found herself wondering how Wildling women managed to walk with this level of demand.  Not that she minded.

Her thoughts turned to more pleasurable things when he rolled her beneath him, his beard tickling her face as he kissed her.  She yielded herself completely, committing these moments to memory, lest it was their last.

Easing himself inside, he tried to be gentle.  Brienne was sure to be sore.  But feeling her arms and hands about him, hearing her labored breathing and the tight grip of her body, Tormund lost himself in her.

She muffled her cries against his neck, their bodies moving in sync with one another.  Finally, she arched against him, stuttered breaths signifying her climax.  He continued on, slamming into her until he too went over into pleasure.

He collapsed to the side of her, both trying to settle their breathing.  By the time the room quieted, they had both fallen into sleep, Tormund’s arm thrown across her as though loath to let her go.

* * *

The horses were loaded and ready, and many shifted and whickered in anticipation as the men prepared for their departure.  The air was rife with excitement, nervousness, and not a little bit of fear.

Brienne watched Sansa present her brother with the garment she’d seen her working on diligently over the course of the week, when she’d had time between strategy meetings and letter writing.  Jon seemed to appreciate it, which of course brought a smile to Sansa’s face.

It was nice to see them getting on so nicely, and Brienne wondered what it would have been like had her father had other children, how she would relate to any siblings.  She shook her head.  It would probably have been just like it was without, she thought, complete with insults and admonitions for her unladylike behavior.

Perhaps the gods had been merciful in making her an only child, though her father was sure to disagree.

She looked around the courtyard of Castle Black.  Everyone was engaged in either getting prepared for their journey or saying farewell to their companions.  As her eyes made it to her right, her gaze was filled with Tormund, whose large, childish grin caught her completely off guard.

She closed her eyes with unshed laughter, turning away from him to compose herself.  What was he grinning about?  Then again, what was he ever grinning about in the many times she’d seen him?  He always seemed to be smiling about something.  Even when they had been together in bed, there had been plenty of times where he’d been playful in his attentions to her.

As some of the men mounted, and horses were shifted, Tormund ended up next to her, so close that his horse’s flanks brushed her own mount.  When she turned to admonish him, his hand swung up around the back of her head, and he pulled her into a kiss.

Startled, she started to pull away, but he held her fast, and she was soon caught up in his scent, the stroke of is tongue, the unexpected softness of his lips, and the pleased hum of his voice.  She felt herself drowning in it, amid hoots and hollers and taunts from onlookers, until he finally pulled away gently.

When Brienne opened her eyes, Tormund was looking at her with a tenderness she would never have expected to see on a Wildling’s face.  It may as well have been them alone in the hulking castle, for all the attention they paid anyone else.

“Never got the chance to do that,” he murmured with a suddenly shy smile. 

“With all that we’ve done?” she countered laconically.  “Surely…”

He shrugged.  “That was different.  That was about me member…well, partly.”  He opened his mouth as if to tell her something else, as the sounds of their impending departure became more prominent.  But he closed it with a slight shake of his head.  She wasn’t ready to hear that, not yet. 

This was about his heart.

He grabbed her hand for a brief moment.  “Come back to me safe, my lady,” he said, his tone almost sad. 

Brienne nodded, and tried her best not to look worried. “Try not to die,” she responded.  “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”  She set her hand above his, and squeezed it before letting go.

He smiled at her, and she felt her heart drop at the thought that something could happen.  Someone or something could make it so she never saw that smile again.  She could finally meet her match on a battlefield, be attacked by brigands…who knew? 

All they could do was leave it up to the gods.  The North had to be secured, and this was the only way to do it, split up to cover more ground, ask as many lords for assistance as possible. 

It was the only way.

And so Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, and their company of loyal men and retainers departed Castle Black, bound for various houses on their quest to wrest Winterfell from the Boltons and unite the North.  Time was of the essence.

For the dead would not wait.

When the time came for their paths to separate on the Kingsroad, they didn’t waste time with more farewells.  Tormund and Brienne took their perspective routes with dignity and silence.

That didn’t stop Brienne from turning back to see the big, red man one last time.  She didn’t know what this feeling was, buried deep in her breast, foreign as it was to her.  All she knew was that she wanted, _needed_ to see Tormund again.

This would not be the last time they would meet.  _It could not._   Why would she have been put on the path to meet him, if it was not to be?  No, this was not the end. 

One way or another, she would fulfill her vow to the Starks, garner support for her lady, and fight any battles she had to.  She would emerge victorious.  She willed it so.

And once it was over, she would seek him out again.  They would be together for however long they could.  She would draw her memories close until the day she could be in his arms again.  That was her comfort as she and Podrick rode out of sight.

Tormund kept his face forward, lest he do something both stupid and embarrassing.  He didn’t know for sure, but he could swear he had felt her eyes on the back of his neck.  It had taken everything in him not to turn to meet her gaze.

But he was already aching, his mind full of worries and horrid possibilities of the future.  There was so much that could go right, but so much more that could go wrong.  He and his men were a united force, able to repel larger armies at will.  He held no worries on that front.

She would be traveling damned near alone however, with only that young squire to aid her.  What if something happened?  No, he assured himself.  Brienne was a fierce warrior, one he hoped never to find on the wrong side of a battle.  She would be fine.

They would both do their duties, defeat the Boltons and then draw together to fight the Night King and his army of undead.  Tormund felt it in his gut.  They would win, and then he could be together with the amazing, unusual woman who had all but fallen into his arms.

He smiled to himself.  She’d be just fine.  Knowing her, he should feel more pity for whoever dared oppose her.  She’d be alright, he thought earnestly to himself, settling his worrisome thoughts and turning stomach.  They’d see each other again.  He knew it.  He hunkered into his saddle and kicked his horse forward.

_You’ll be alright._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle is over, and when Brienne returns to the North, it is to a reclaimed Winterfell. Worries subside when she sees her Red Bear has been waiting for her, and the feels flow a little more freely. Lots of fluff! Let me know what you think!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next installment, just before the big season 6 finale. I'm so excited and not a little bit nervous about what's going to happen! Also sad we have to wait another year, but that's alright. Time taken makes for a great show. Anyway, sorry (not sorry) for the delay. Had some other fandoms that were in dire need of update, so I had to get those knocked out. But here it is. I really hope you all like it. I did a spell check and some light proofreading, so if you see anything amiss, please let a Sistah know! Thank you!!

**Winterfell, 3 days after the battle**

Brienne rode at a trot as she and Pod entered through the gates of Winterfell.  They had ridden hard to make it by nightfall, only just arriving with the sunset.  The main gate and some of the walls were under repair, damage from the battle, she assumed.  They had seen signs of the fight, and apparently it had spilled into the keep itself.

Brienne had to fight the regret that rose in her breast, both at her failure to secure the Blackfish as an ally for Sansa, and that she had missed an opportunity to take the field in combat for her.  At least it was over now.  A bird had arrived to inform her of the ending of the battle, and of the fall of House Bolton.

It had also told of the death of Rickon Stark, the last male heir of Winterfell.  The news had broken Brienne’s heart.  Poor Sansa.

The North, the very world, was a much better place without Ramsey Bolton.  Of that everyone could be sure.  This would bring the stability Sansa needed to help solidify her claim to Winterfell and unite the North.  For they had a greater danger to contend with. 

As they dismounted, Brienne took in her surroundings.  She’d never been to the cold, gray castle that was Winterfell.  It was bustling with folk running here and there, the repairs underway, and the feeding and tending to the many soldiers who had come.

The knights of the Vale, whose assistance she’d thought Sansa had refused, were camped outside of the keep.  Brienne was eager to find out what had changed her lady’s mind about dealing that Littlefinger.  True, without them the battle would have been lost, but something had to have swayed her.

Would that she had come to her decision before so many men had lost their lives.

Brienne only hoped that, in doing so, Sansa hadn’t placed herself in yet another precarious position, at the mercy of yet another man who didn’t have her best interests at heart.  With Ramsey dead, lords from far and wide would clamor for the beautiful Stark girl’s affections, most to further their own agenda. 

And Littlefinger was no different.  In fact, Brienne was certain he was much, much worse.

A small group of Wildlings caught her eye.  She searched among them, but none of them bore the red hair or large build her eyes longed for.  She checked her disappointment and the knot of foreboding she felt.

Surely he hadn’t…no.  She was sure someone as resilient and strong as Tormund would not have been killed.  He was just too stubborn for that, too determined to see his people prosper.  Surely Sansa would have informed her if he had fallen.

Brienne just wasn’t ready to face the possibility that she might not see the red Wildling again.  So, until she knew for sure, she would hold desperately to hope.

Podrick took their horses, a concerned expression on the squire’s face as Brienne went on her way.  His lady would never readily admit it, but he knew exactly who was on her mind.  He hoped that her heart would not be broken by bad news.

For now, he’d be here, loyal and true, should the worst come to pass.

Brienne stepped inside the main hall, where many troops, retainers, and other staff were eating.  Sansa herself was supping at the main table.  To her left sat Littlefinger.  To her right sat her brother, Jon. 

Ser Davos was in attendance as well, though a little ways apart, seemingly absorbed in his own thoughts tonight.  Next to his bowl, a small, wooden stag, its body singed by flame, stood vigil as he ate.  Something greatly troubled the Onion Knight.  Brienne could only wonder.

Heads turned toward her as she approached.  Sansa gave a small smile.  “Welcome to Winterfell, Brienne.  I am glad you returned safely.”

“You have my apologies, my lady.  I failed in my mission to get you help.  The Blackfish, he would not be moved, no matter what I said.”  Brienne took a knee, bowing her head in disgrace.  Once again she’d failed a Stark. 

“Oh, Brienne, get up,” Sansa pleaded, waving a hand.  “As you see, I have my home back, Ramsey is no more, and all is right in the world again.”  She quickly corrected herself.  “At least, it is for now.”

The warrior rose, her resolve firm.  “I am here now, my lady.  Should any threat rise against you, I shall be here to fight them, to protect you and the rest of your family.  I will not fail you again.  This, I promise you.”

“Good,” Sansa replied.  “I need as many loyal people around me as possible.  I tire of betrayal, subterfuge, and murder.  We must rally, and we must do it soon.  Winter is coming.” 

She waved Brienne to a seat and resumed eating.

The words chilled Brienne, as they always did, but the coldness of Sansa’s countenance did so even more.  The poor child.  She’d been through so much since her father was murdered, and it was written all over her face, in the way her smile hardly reached her eyes, and the stiff way she held her posture. 

She’d been betrayed by nearly every person she’d put her faith in, and that had hardened Sansa’s heart.

Brienne wished with all her heart that Sansa would know some happiness in the mess the seven kingdoms had become.  Hopefully House Stark would mend and be stronger than ever.  Maybe they could even retain their title as Warden of the North.  Whatever would make her lady smile again, Brienne hoped fervently for it.

As she sat down to eat, she listened half-heartedly as Sansa and the others talked about business, about what their victory meant and how to use the momentum to move forward.  In truth, she was very tired, and worried.  She still had seen nothing of Tormund.

A boisterous group of Wildlings caught her attention as they entered, sitting down to have their own supper.  None of them were Tormund.  Where was he?  Biting down her fearful disappointment, she turned back to her plate to finish up the stew so she could retire for the night.

“Looking for me, my lady?”

Raising her wide eyes and turning, Brienne saw Tormund had come to stand just behind her, a small grin on his face.  His face was ruddy, and his cheeks were wind burned.  His nose had been broken…badly.  It looked to be on the mend, but someone hadn’t set it properly.

Other than that, he was well, thank the gods.  Brienne could not hide the grateful smile that lifted her lips.  Tormund’s expression changed slightly at her obvious relief at seeing him, his eyes boring into her intensely.  He came forward, taking his place at her side.

A great weight was lifted from her tired shoulders just at the sight of his face.  Brienne was shocked at just how worried she had been, fearing he was dead when she hadn’t found him by Jon’s side.  Now he was here, and suddenly her worst fear was only a nightmare.

She kept it subtle, but she moved ever so slightly in her place on the bench, bringing her shoulder and hip against Tormund.  She wanted his touch, the bodily contact that reassured her he was real. 

Tormund paused as he lifted a piece of bread to his mouth to glance at Brienne.  She’d sought physical contact with him, here, in front of the most important people at Winterfell.  His stomach fell and fluttered, and it took everything in him not to grin like a silly, love-struck girl.

It would seem she’d been worried, and he felt happier than he had in a very, very long time.  But he didn’t want to push his luck.  He kept his face casual, even as his heart soared.  They sat thus, each a jumble of unshed emotions neither moved to announce. 

The time to address their feelings would come soon enough.

Soon, the evening meal concluded, and many excused themselves to retire for the night.  Brienne stood and gave her farewells to Sansa and company.  A member of the staff was called to take her to the place she would call home while here.  Then, with a heavy glance at Tormund, she turned to leave. 

The girl led Brienne to a quaint, but very nice room, its walls warm with the hot spring water that ran through the castle like life’s blood.  She even had her own hearth.  Both were enough to take the chill from a cold Winters night.

The girl excused herself, and was not completely out of sight before Tormund walked in, closing the thick wooden door behind him.  When he embraced her, Brienne was eager and ready.  Their lips met passionately, the kiss long and deep, before their movements calmed. 

Slowly they fed from each other, exchanging equal feelings of relief and excitement, shedding their fears and hopelessness.  Nothing else mattered but that they were together again.

Even when the kiss ended, they stood in one another’s embrace.  Tormund pressed his forehead to Brienne’s, their eyes closed as they just savored this one moment.  “I missed you, lass,” he murmured softly.

“I feared you were dead,” Brienne responded.  “I did not see you when I returned, and my mind began to think the worst.  I thought I would be sick.”  She eased back from him, so she could gaze upon his face.

His green eyes were alight with tenderness, relief, and…something she couldn’t quite place.  When he looked at her, she always felt exposed, as if she could hide nothing from him.  It still made her uncomfortable at times, but she admitted that she’d missed those eyes, so well put with his red hair.

“What is this hold you have over me?” she finally asked.  “I was reduced to worrying, nearly choked with grief when I thought you had died.”

“I know how you feel,” Tormund agreed.  “I couldn’t think about nothing else after the battle but when I would see my lady again.”  His gaze brushed her blonde hair, limp and dirty with sweat, to her strong, most unladylike jaw and wide mouth before coming back to her bright, blue eyes. 

“You’re closer to my heart than my own people,” he said with realization.  “I love ya.”

Her mouth fell open on a gasp, her cheeks suddenly hot as blood rushed to color her face.  He couldn’t have said words more shocking at that moment. 

The smile he gave her was almost sad.  Was it her reaction?  Brienne reached up, snaking her mailed hand around to his head to pull him down to her mouth.  He had no need to feel sad, for she wasn’t.  His confession had made her head lighter than air.

He willingly came, but just before their lips could touch, a small knock sounded at the door.  Brienne was about to shout for the intruder to go away before she remembered.  Walking to the door, she let in several staff members, who brought in a large, metal tub and several buckets of hot water.

She had requested a bath be drawn, wanting to wash the grime of the road from her tired body.  The servants went about their business, then left without a fuss.  Closing the door, Brienne turned back to Tormund. 

“Help me remove my armor?”

His confidence had returned along with his usual, mischievous smile.  “Happy to help.”

A little while later, Brienne ran a cloth over Tormund’s chest as he reclined against the side of the tub, his eyes closed in ecstasy.  She had rubbed soap into his muscles, asked about the wound he had on his right arm. 

He brushed it off, said it was a memento of his helping the Commander of the Night’s Watch, his onetime enemy turned dearest friend, take back Winterfell and the North.

Still, she fussed, making sure the stitches he’d had done were clean and done correctly.  His nose was another matter.  She asked him who he’d seen about setting his nose.  The Wildling looked at her like she’d asked about battle formations.

Obviously the nose had not been seen to.  So, before he could protest, or even realized what she was doing, Brienne had cupped his face, placed her thumb alongside the broken ridge of his nose, and with a quick press, set the bone back in a straight line.

Tormund had cursed, coughed, and finally glanced at her in shock.  He could breathe so much easier through his nose now.  He had no idea that was all he’d had to do.  He would have to tell his people about this.  It would make for easier times with broken noses later.

Brienne gave him a small smile before leaning into him.  “My turn.”  She turned her back, obviously wanting him to wash her as well.  He did so eagerly, running the soapy washrag up her back and neck, wetting her hair and running his fingers through.

She sighed, feeling pampered.  His hands brought the cloth around to her breasts, where he washed and squeezed warm water onto her chest.  When she felt his lips at her neck, his hardening manhood against the small of her back, she knew the bathing was over.  It was time for something else.

Tormund’s hands dropped the cloth, and as one cupped a breast, the other dove beneath the soapy murkiness of the water to tickle between Brienne’s thighs.  Her breath caught, but he wouldn’t allow her to turn around. 

His movements down below became more urgent, and she felt her arousal spike.  His fingers pinched at her nipple, and she was sure his mouth would leave a mark or two, the way he was sucking the skin on her lower neck and just above her shoulder. 

She was tingling all over, and finally couldn’t take anymore.  Turning despite his attempts to thwart her, Brienne’s mouth crashed against Tormund’s.  Her hands tunneled into his hair, and the tickle of his beard against her chin added to the maelstrom of sensations.

Tormund’s large hands came to her hips, and he lifted her with ease to straddle his large body.  She felt his arousal between them, and with a forwardness she didn’t realize she had, she slid her hand down, encircling him. 

Easing up on her knees, she moved him in position, aligning him with her opening before bringing her hips down, encasing his thickness with her heat.  Tormund’s head fell back with a harsh moan, and his hands held her in a bruising grip that only excited her more. 

She made small movements with her hips, squeezing him tightly within her.  His head came forward, his eyes heavy-lidded and drunk off her.  Strong hands raised her up, bringing her back down as his hips slammed upward, wringing a whimper from her pinched lips.

This went on for some time, until Tormund decided to change locations.  Lifting her off him, he swung Brienne into his arms with very little effort, something she never thought to see.  Stepping deftly over the edge of the bath, he walked their dripping bodies over to the bed, laying her down gently.

Climbing on top, he capture her mouth again, his hand busy again at her nether lips.  He swirled his fingers within her, mimicking the actions of his tongue, encouraging her to moisten and heat for him.

His mouth moved to the sensitive flesh behind her ear, to her throat, and quickly made a slippery path to her breast, where he latched on to her nipple.  Brienne’s back arched, and she moaned for him, making his blood sing.

Easing forward, he easily entered her, her hips rising to meet him.  They fit perfectly, moved completely in sync with each other, even for her to have had so little experience.  She let instinct lead her body, and soon they were racing toward completion.

Tormund sat back and eased a leg over his shoulder, his hand holding Brienne’s foot gently.  He turned his head and kissed her ankle, watching her face.  She had closed her eyes, her mouth agape as she gasped.

Looking down he watched her flesh repeatedly yield to his own, his mind and body racing with his affections and with pleasure at watching her take him.  He was dangerously close to his end, so he reached with a thumb and played with her pearl.

Her eyes opened wide, and within moments her body locked, her back rising from the bed in a deep arch as her thighs shook.  Tormund dropped forward, covering her as his hips beat against hers in a rhythm that quickly had him emptying himself within her, his long, guttural groan muffled by her neck.

They stayed that way for a while, their bodies cooling along with their passions.  Tormund finally rolled to his side, taking Brienne to lay against him.  His smirk was back, so joyful he felt at having this powerful, honorable woman by his side. 

Her breathing was quiet, and for a moment he thought she was asleep.  But then her voice broke the silence.

“Did you mean what you said?” she asked suddenly. 

He could feel the uncertainty in her voice, the vulnerability this warrior woman probably never showed anyone.  He didn’t have to ask her to what she was referring.  He knew full well. 

He answered simply.  “I did.  Were you of my people, I would have stolen you a long time ago.”

“Stolen me?” she asked, her eyes curious.

“Yes,” he answered, his hand rubbing her bottom.  “That’s the way it is done with the Free Folk.  I would watch you for a while, learn your movements and routine.  Then, when your Lord father wasn’t watching, I’d catch you alone and unawares, and take you for my own.”

He pulled her closer to him.  “I know I would have a hard time getting you to come with me, but that would only make me want you more.  I know I would have made the right choice, because I want no one else.”

Brienne didn’t know what to say.  She’d never had anyone say such wonderful and terrifying things to her.

“I may not have died on that battlefield, but I nearly did,” Tormund continued.  “When that large Northerner kept hitting me with that _fucking_ hard head of his, when I was nearly crushed between mobs of men at spearpoint, all I could think of was never seeing your face again.”

He rubbed her shoulder when she lay her face back against him.  He didn’t know how she felt about what he'd said, or even what her expression was at the moment.  Quiet settled once more, but when next she spoke, it made him feel as though his heart, throbbing beneath her warm hand, had flown from his chest.

“I love you too.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We explore more of what happens when Jon is elevated far from where he'd thought he'd be. Several POVs are written. Later, Brienne learns some of the art of the lingus. So needless to say, it gets a little NSFW towards the end. Also fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Thanks for sticking with this story, and for all the kudos and comments! I'm pulling inspiration from my own well of creativity now, and so it's a little harder to weave something together. I know Brienne hadn't returned to Winterfell just yet, but for the purpose of Brormund (Or is it Torienne? I don't know.), she came back for their reunion last chapter. Things continue here. Hope you like. As always, thanks for reading! :)

**Winterfell**

**I** t had been near onto two weeks since the defeat of the Boltons.  The honored fallen had been retrieved and lain to rest.  The banners of the North, those who were sworn to House Stark, were summoned, filling the castle with lords of large and small measure.

There had been long hours of debate and argument when they had convened, the discussions rife with posturing and swearing. 

The Northern lords, alongside the higher-ranking knights of the Vale, had squabbled amongst themselves tirelessly, petty grievances and one-upmanship taking precedence over the most important issues.  Most jockeyed for a position of favor with the last remaining Stark, an alliance that would be advantageous to any who managed to secure it.

Jon presided over the disputes alongside Sansa, thinking that he would be much more comfortable facing an enemy on the field, sword in hand, than among these lords and their wounded pride.  If anything, being a bastard was easy in that nothing was expected of you.  He was unsure if or how they would placate them all.

It would have continued thus, had not a little girl with the ferocity of the bear that was her house’s sigil brought men far her senior to quiet with words harsh but true.  Many were cowed by guilt and disgrace. 

Several houses had left the Starks to fight their battle alone, fear of cruel Bolton retribution keeping them locked safely in their keeps.  And now they were here, professing to have a hand in making decisions on the future of the North. 

The fact was not lost on House Mormont, nor on that of Sansa and Jon. 

In the end, apologies were made, and what followed was a decision that would echo across the continent, from the North to all of Westeros, on ears all astonishment.

Jon Snow was declared King in the North. 

The man who had endured insults and stigma, who had been derisively known only as the bastard of the late Lord Eddard Stark, had come a long way.  He’d risen from a simple steward to becoming Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.  And now, he was the one to whom the Northerners swore fealty and looked to for leadership. 

Brienne could hardly believe it as she observed from her position just behind Sansa.  The Lords were steady chanting Jon’s new title as the White Wolf looked on, his expression portraying the appearance of calm.  But she knew he was far from it. 

To have such power thrust upon him, one who had never sought such a station in life, must have been overwhelming.

He nodded dutifully to his people, those whose expectations and ambitions he’d so suddenly taken upon himself.  Sansa looked on him with a smile, though Brienne wondered at her not becoming Queen.  She did carry the Stark name after all.  Jon, despite his valor and honor, did not.

Brienne was curious as to why her lady did not speak out.  Were it her, she certainly would.  Even though she loathed politics, Brienne would hardly let someone else take what was rightfully hers.

That Mormont girl was impressive indeed.  Her words had rallied a whole room in moments, where others had failed after hours.  Brienne smiled as she saw her younger self reflected in the 10-year old.  How much time had passed since she was a headstrong, sharp-eyed girl?

She caught Tormund’s eye.  He had been sitting amidst his people while the tiresome discussions had taken place.  He’d even defended the Wildlings’ right to be south of the Wall to one of the highborn knights.  Brienne was amazed at how he continued to impress her.

He gave her a small smile, her stomach flipping in the usual response to his gaze.  She kept her face impassive in an attempt to remain disciplined while so many eyes were watching.  But she looked forward to spending more time with her lover.

Soon food was served.  Brienne was excused for the evening, so she made her way down to sit with Tormund and his people.  Truth be told, she felt far more welcomed among the Free Folk than she’d ever felt among her own culture. 

Gone were the judgmental, censuring stares and misogynistic, insulting comments.  She was accepted, fully and without obligation, for the first time in her life.

“I’m glad that’s over,” Tormund grumbled, glaring at the man next to him when he was slow to slide over.  Finally understanding, the man moved over with a mumbled apology.  Brienne gave the Wildling a nod.  She was unoffended.

She took a seat, and immediately felt Tormund’s hand claim a spot on her thigh.  The heat of the large appendage warmed her even through her armor.  She gave him a shy smile, and he handed her some bread and a bowl of soup.

Ser Daavos sat with them.  He looked less morose than before, but was still a little glum despite their victory.  Brienne reached over to pat his hand where it sat on the table.

“Ser, is everything alright?” Brienne asked, genuinely concerned.  “You seem very upset by something, have for a while now.  Can I help?”

The knight gave her a sad smile, shaking his head.  “I’m afraid no one can help in this situation.”  He made a quick turn of the room with his eyes before leaning in toward her and Tormund.  “Have you noticed that red witch is gone?  Do you know the reason why?”

Come to think of it, Brienne hadn’t seen the follower of The Red God in quite some time.  She would have thought she’d have taken her place next to Jon, whom she had never been far from.  But the woman was indeed nowhere to be seen. 

“I do not.  Do you know?”

Daavos’ eyes became hard.  “She was banished by our new king.  For burning a child in a tribute to her so-called god.  The child, the _girl_ , was Princess Shireen.”

Brienne gasped, horrified.  “What?  When?!”  She would never have stood by and allowed such a disgusting act to occur. “It was not here, or at Castle Black was it?”

“No,” Daavos continued.  “It was between.  That red woman advised Stannis that burning Shireen would improve things for our foundering army and pave the way for his victory.  In his desperation, Stannis agreed with her, as did his wife, Selyse.  They allowed that evil woman to burn their _own daughter_!”

Stunned speechless, both Tormund and Brienne glanced at each other.  They couldn’t imagine doing that to anyone, especially a child.  Death was best dealt on the battlefield, as equals, not holding a torch to a vanquished and helplessly restrained enemy.

Tormund frowned.  He remembered the execution of his former King, Mance Rayder, and cringed internally.  They’d tried to burn him alive too.  Locating Jon as he was making his way to the different lords, Tormund was ever grateful for the arrow the boy had shot through Mance’s heart, saving him the agony of a needlessly terrible death.

Ser Daavos’ voice caught as his eyes closed sadly.  “Had I not journeyed back to Castle Black, had I _been_ there, I could have saved her.  I should have taken her with me.”  His tone dripped with regret.

Brienne straightened her voice.  “You have my sincere condolences, ser.  May little Shireen be safe in the arms of the Seven.  There was nothing you could have done, so I pray you do not believe it was by any doing of yours.”

Daavos did not seem much comforted, and Brienne knew only time would heal such a harsh wound of mind and spirit.  “Here.  Let us move our minds to more joyous things.  Shall we have a drink to celebrate our victory and our new king?”

Daavos nodded, doing his best to smile.  “I would like that.”  He could still see Shireen in his mind’s eye.  When she’d taught him how to read.  When she’d made him laugh with wit that belied her age.  When she’d accepted his gift of the small stag he’d whittled that he held even now in his grasp.  Her beautiful, innocent little smile.  “Yes,” he said.  “Let us drink.”  He needed to forget, if only for a little while.

“Yes!” Tormund exclaimed.  “I have just the thing, some of that fermented goat’s milk left over.  Remember?  It’s good stuff, if you both want to try some…”  He shut his mouth at the expressions on the duo’s faces.  “I guess I’ll be drinking alone then.”

“We’ll…just have some wine,” Brienne said, trying to get the idea of fermented goat’s milk out of her head.  Disgusting.  Tormund would not be kissing her tonight until he thoroughly rinsed his mouth out, she vowed.  

Ser Daavos nodded fervently in agreement.  “I’ll go with the wine, please.”

A bottle and some glasses were placed on the table before them.  Many of the Free Folk were also drinking.  Some drank as Tormund did.  Others chose mead or wine. 

Brienne poured both her and Daavos a cup, and Tormund held his bottle in hand.  Raising her glass, she smiled.  “To the North.  To new friends and a new beginning.”  The two men responded to her toast, some of the others at the table joining in.

Tormund’s eyes held hers, and he took a drink, his torrid gaze holding promises for the evening.  But for now, there was drink to be had, and merriment to be made.

Sansa perused the room, watching the many revelers.  She sipped at her own wine, although she hardly tasted it for the swirling of thoughts sweeping through her mind. 

Has she wanted to be Queen?  Should she feel slighted?  The lords had hardly given her notice though she alone held the Stark name.  Her brother, _half_ -brother, her mind reminded, was making rounds in the room as though he were used to the company.

The North hadn’t even considered her, the only surviving trueborn child of Ned Stark, as worthy to rule.  She felt relieved, but at the same time it would have been nice if she’d at least been given the opportunity to refuse.  Then she would have certainly given the title to Jon.

But she couldn’t bring herself to feel jealous.  Not quite.  All had gone as it should go.  The Lords were more likely to follow a male of the house, and though Jon did not carry the name, he was a Stark in all the ways that mattered.  He would find no trouble from her.

Sansa’s eyes swept toward the rear of the room and she was surprised to find Littlefinger staring at her.  Or maybe not so surprised.  She noted the look in his eye.  Though he seemed pleasant enough, she knew he was not pleased.  He’d all but declared his contention for the Iron Throne when he’d approached her at the Godswood and tried to kiss her, again.

What would her late mother have thought of that? 

Sansa held his eyes for a moment longer before looking away.  She had a distinct and uneasy feeling that Petyr Balish would be a problem for her and especially Jon.  She was suddenly regretful that she hadn’t let Brienne cut him down when they’d met in Molestown.  

He was a scary, licentious man who could never truly be trusted.    Hadn’t she learned that firsthand?

But in doing so, she would have lost the Knights of the Vale.  Sansa sighed.  This treacherous game was utterly hard to play, but she’d get better.  She had to for the sake of her house.  And she vowed that if Littlefinger went after her brother, he would be sorry.

* * *

Ser Daavos stumbled a little as Tormund walked him out of the hall.  As much as he tried to seem otherwise, The Onion Knight was well in his cups.  He let out a belch, a slurred apology, and continued stumbling down the hall, saved from falling only by the large Wildling man at his side.  Tormund laughed to himself.

He had volunteered to help the old knight back to his room.  Ser Daavos had managed to have a fun time drinking with him and Brienne.  But soon he’d started to nod off, so they had forgone anything further.

Safe in the knight’s bedchamber, Tormund pulled off Daavos’ boots.  By the time they were set on the floor, Daavos was asleep.  Tormund stoked the fire in the hearth before quietly exiting the room.

If the drink didn’t help Daavos to take his mind off things, the hangover he’d have in the morning certainly would.  But now was the time for other, more pleasurable things.  Tormund picked up his step as he went from the chamber of his friend to that of his lover.  He knew she was there.

She had gone ahead when the two men had left, paying her respects to her lady Sansa and the new King, who was still having trouble adapting to the title.  It would take time.

As Tormund opened the door, he spied Brienne sitting on her bed, her armor set neatly aside.  She had washed her face and dressed in sleep wear Tormund had never seen before.  It looked like a gown of sorts, but was short and thin and displayed her long arms freely.

He barely remembered to secure the door before he started forward.  Brienne held his eyes as the big man came ever closer.  When he stood in front of her, he bent to kiss her, but was stopped.

At his questioning look, Brienne blinked up at him.  “Have you rinsed your mouth of that…milk?”  Tormund chuckled.  She smiled up at him, and raised her face when he dipped his head. 

“I tried some of that wine before we walked back,” he told her before their lips met.  “That should cover the taste.”  The kiss was short and sweet.  He stripped himself of his fur coat and shirt, but when he went to do the same of his trousers, Brienne stopped him.

Frustrated, he looked at her.  She smiled briefly.  “I talked with a few women during my travels to Riverrun,” she stated, her hand keeping Tormund’s still.  “I heard…things.”

Tormund was confused now.  “What things?”  And what did it have to do with him not getting naked?

“Even Podrick has had more experience in this department, telling me things that one should never hear from one’s squire,” she explained, looking very uncomfortable for a breath of time.  “But I heard it was something pleasing to men.  Her eyes lowered to the juncture of his thighs.

Smirking in realization, Tormund relaxed his hand, putting both of them at his side.  “What did you have in mind, my lady?”

She looked nervous as her hands set to work disrobing him.  When his trousers pooled around his feet, Tormund stepped out of them but remained still after, watching her face.

Brienne examined his member as it jutted toward her from a nest of dark copper curls.  She’d never done something so lewd before, not even when she’d messed around back home.  Such an act was unheard of in her experience.

But the women she had spoken with at an inn she and Pod had stayed in had stressed how pleasing the act was to men, how it brought them satisfaction.  She wanted to do that for Tormund.  She loved him after all, and that made her want to please him.

Raising a hand, she gently touched him, caressing long fingers along his shaft before wrapping them around him.  He drew a quick breath at her touch, and she looked up to find him licking his lips as his eyes burned into hers.   He gave no objection, so she continued.

Moving forward, Brienne brought her lips to the soft, velvety tip of him.  She drew her hand back, and the skin receded.  He was soft against her, and she pressed a kiss to him.  She felt the flesh pulse beneath her hand.  Encouraged, she decided to use her tongue.

Sliding the wet muscle against his head, she traced the skin around the opening, remembering what she’d been told, before gliding along the length of him.  Repeating the motion, she felt him grunt.  “That’s good, love,” he said lowly.  His hands were balled at his sides, but his breathing had harshened a bit.

Brienne did the same a couple more times.  Then she opened her lips and took him inside.  He sucked in a harsh breath, and she drew back in surprise, her incisor accidently scoring him as she did so.  This time, the sound that left his mouth didn’t sound like a noise of pleasure.

She reared back in alarm.  She’d hurt him.  “I’m so sorry!” she quickly exclaimed.  She looked to see if there was any damage.  To be hurt in such a sensitive place…  “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Tormund reassured.  “It’s alright.  Just be careful with your teeth.” 

Brienne nodded.  “I was told a few things, but…why don’t you show me how?   Tell me what _you_ like.”

He moved his hand to her, grabbing one of hers and replacing it in its former position, the fingers sliding back around him, her little finger touching the wall of his abdomen.  “Alright.  Hold me tight here,” he said.  “Not so tight as to strangle, but to hold firmly.” 

He then guided her head.  “Now, take me into your mouth again.  Gently.  Use your lips to cover your teeth, and make a good grip with your mouth as well.”

Brienne followed his directions to the letter.  She was always good at taking orders.  She tried a few strokes with her mouth and received praise from her lover, who was becoming more aroused by the second.

“Yes,” he whispered harshly.  “That feels good.”  His eyes were closed, and Brienne felt pleased, desired as she stroked over him several times with her mouth and hand. 

His was a salty flavor with a hint of musk.  It was not unpleasant, but it was unfamiliar.  The feel of something so large and dense yet so soft was also something her mouth and throat were unused to.  She gagged a couple times, especially when Tormund unconsciously thrust forward with her movements.

Her mouth was tiring.  She glanced up to find him gritting his teeth, his head tipped back slightly.  She was pleasing him.  Perhaps she could hold out a little while longer?

Tormund seemed to sense her fatigue.  His large hand fisted in her hair, stopping her.  He pulled a little, guiding her to tilt her head back as he bent down to kiss her passionately.  He maneuvered her back after, his hands sliding under her arms to lift and push her so she was lying all the way on the bed.

He gently pulled the night gown over her head, letting it float to the floor soundlessly.

Then she lay back as he moved between her legs, his green eyes hooded and burning.  His gaze caressed her, from her chest as it rose and fell with her heavy breaths, to the toned plane of her belly and further.  He looked back up to capture her eyes.

“You did well for your first time,” he murmured.  “Now it’s my turn.”

* * *

 Brienne lay back against the soft pillows.  Tormund was sound asleep, lying on his stomach, his breaths becoming soft snores from time to time.  The fire burned low, but she was warm lying beside him.  His large, hard body was hot and kept her warmer than any fire.

She knew not how many times she’d cried out in the night, her pleasure too much to stifle.  But cry out she had.  How fortunate was she to have such a lover, a man who took her for who she was without qualms or abuse?  And he loved her?  She had no idea what she could have done to deserve such a blessing. 

But she would accept her gift, keep him close and treasured, as long as he would have her.

The man stirred, his red hair catching the low embers flickering at the hearth.  “You alright?” he asked drowsily. 

“I am,” she answered.  She drifted her fingers through his hair as he watched her face.  “I love you.”

His eyes now alert, Tormund shifted and sat up.  “And I love you.”  His hands closed in around her face, and he kissed her deeply, his tongue burrowing as if to taste every inch of her.  The tickle of his wiry beard caused little shivers in her reawakening body. 

When he pulled back, he stared, and Brienne could see from his face that he was about to say something he was unsure of.

“Brienne,” he said, and she balked.  He rarely ever used her given name.  “I want you to be my wife.”

Her mouth fell open.  She hadn’t expected a proposal, even with their feelings for each other.  Perhaps she wasn’t sure his culture approached attachments the way hers did.  Or maybe she had been too afraid to think it possible for one such as her to be loved and wanted as a wife. 

But he’d said the words.  Possibilities rushed through her mind, giving her the sensation of dizziness.

Tormund seemed concerned.  “I will provide for you and any children we have as best I can,” he further explained.  “I can hunt, fish, and fight better than most, and I’ll never hurt you.  Please,” he said in a tone she’d never heard before.  “Will you be my wife?”

Brienne knew that such a union would be frowned upon.  He was a Wildling, considered neither a lord nor a citizen of Westeros, even though he and his people had been invited south of the Wall by Lord Snow himself. 

But _she_ had been frowned upon her whole life, from as early as she could remember.  What a pair they would make.  She wondered if their first child would be a large, ginger boy, or perhaps a warrior girl like herself.

She smiled at Tormund, which gave him hope.  “We will have to speak with my father,” she said gingerly.  She would afford her lord father this courtesy.  He had allowed her to live her dreams after all, as no father in Westeros would.

Tormund whooped before sweeping her into an ecstatic kiss even more passionate than the last, his arms clutching her to him like a lifeline.  He pulled back, kissed her again, and asked her.  “Tell me.”

“Yes, Tormund Giantsbane,” Brienne replied happily.  “I will be your wife.”  She laughed softly as he rained kisses on her neck and face, his eyes alight with joy.

His smile was beautiful, but the love he made to her until the cock crowed that morning was even more so.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Tormund finally make it to the Sapphire Isle. How will her father react to this? Read and find out. Let me know what you think!
> 
> WARNING: Contains spoilers of the season 6 finale of Game of Thrones.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Game of Thrones, nor do I receive compensation for this work.

**W** interfell was abuzz with the news. Lady Sansa's sworn sword and Stormland noblewoman Brienne of Tarth was now betrothed to Tormund Giantsbane, a Wildling. Tongues wagged, some with congratulations and happiness for the couple, jesting and whispering of scandal and disgrace in the eyes of society.

Neither paid them any mind, Brienne especially. After all, she'd dealt with the disparagement of the nobility all her life. She felt no need for their approval now. What had they ever done for her?

She loved Tormund, and she was going to do what her heart and happiness dictated.

Tormund was unsure how these things were conducted among southerners. He'd assured her that, had she been of the Free Folk, he'd have already spirited her away on the back of his horse, found somewhere safe and sheltered, and "fucked her until she couldn't walk" by now.

Brienne hadn't been able to do much else but blush at the desirable image his words had conjured.

His people lived such a simple life, with no society to pander to, no family names to serve. She envied them that sometimes. But she had to do right by her house and especially her lord father, whom she loved dearly. Lord Selwyn Tarth had loved, accepted, and supported her when no one else had, and as his heir she felt she owed him this respect.

She and Tormund would journey south to the Stormlands, to Brienne's childhood home on the Sapphire Isle, where Tormund would formally ask Lord Selwyn for her hand in marriage.

They had both met together with Sansa and Jon along with Ser Daavos. Between the five of them, they had come up with a route to travel safely to the island of Tarth and Evenfall Hall.

The night before they were to leave, Brienne had sat up with a stomach full of butterflies and a mind anxious for their journey and for seeing her lord father again. What would he think of her now? No, that was never a worry. Her father always loved her, no matter what.

More importantly, what would he think of Tormund? Would her father approve of him?

She'd fretted restlessly until her lover had roused and pulled her under him with eager hands. She had slept soundly the rest of the night, exhausted.

The day dawned cold and dreary when Tormund and Brienne departed. The horses were loaded with any supplies they could possibly need, and a company of soldiers escorted them, courtesy of the new king and her lady. Their path was mapped out.

They would depart from Winterfell down the Kingsroad as far as Castle Cerwyn. There, they would continue on, their safety assured by Lord Cerwyn, whose men would take over and guide them to White Harbor.

The North was loyal to Jon Snow and the Starks, and they anticipated no dangers on that leg of the journey. From White Harbor they would take ship south, and, if the gods be good, they would avoid any patrols or pirates by staying far enough out on the Narrow Sea.

Their journey would take them around The Fingers, past Gulltown and Claw Isle, and finally into Crownland waters. Naturally, they would need to be extremely cautious from then on.

The trip would especially be hazardous while passing Dragonstone. The great, foreboding keep now served as a lookout for the crown's forces, and they could easily raise the alarm and muster intercepting vessels if they became suspicious of their small ship.

As a result, no banners would be flown. They would fly nondescript colors and bland sails, all in hopes of being too plain to garner any attention. It was the best plan they could devise, given the circumstances.

Westeros was still deeply embroiled in conflict. Birds had flown across the entire continent, bringing ill tidings of King Tommen, the royal court, and the Tyrells. Lady Sansa had collapsed into tears when she'd heard the news of Lady Margaery.

The late Queen had treated Sansa with nothing but kindness, had made her days in King's Landing bearable where she might have been broken by Joffrey. Even her brother Loris, the Knight of Flowers, had perished. House Tyrell was all but finished now, and the land would suffer greatly for their loss.

With Cersei as the new Queen, the capital was in an uproar of chaos. Hopefully the disorder would keep the attention of any who would cause problems for the voyage at least for a time.

Sansa smiled up at Brienne astride her horse. "You will write to me," she stated, brooking no argument. "I will worry if I don't hear of your progress and that you've arrived safely."

Brienne nodded. "Or course, my lady. I will do so as often as I can. I am sure to have plenty of time for it while I languish on a ship." She was not looking forward to that part of the journey. She preferred a good horse and some supplies, sleeping under the stars or in an inn.

Unfortunately the sea was the safest way.

Podrick approached. He was not happy about being left behind, but he understood. He and Brienne had traveled around together for quite a while. Best not to make it too easy to identify them. "Prayers for your safe return, my lady," he said quietly.

Brienne reached down and laid a hand on his soft, brown hair. "You have been a good squire, Pod. I know I haven't always shown that I appreciated you, but I did. You embody everything a knight should be. When I return, we shall have to see about making it official."

Pod's face lit up as he nodded. "Yes, milady." He stepped back with his characteristic kind eyes and jovial smile, which Brienne returned. Where he had been naught but a nuisance on their initial acquaintance, she found she quite liked the young man now.

He would make a splendid knight one day very soon. She would see to it, even if, lacking the title herself, she could not do so personally.

Tormund fidgeted on his own steed, a big red charger awarded him by Jon, who laughed to himself as he watched the big Wildling adjust his breeches for the umpteenth time over his crotch.

Horses were few among his people. The rare times he had seen one, they had eaten them. Finding food was often difficult beyond the Wall, and they'd had to do what was needed to survive. He had learned to ride at Castle Black, taught by the rangers and other Brothers. He was no expert horseman, but he knew the basics.

They had thought it best to put Tormund in clothing more indicative of those south of the Wall. He would draw far less attention than in the furs of the Free Folk. So Jon had ordered him several sets of clothing, nothing too fancy, for his trip.

Tormund had thought it all unnecessary, what with resources needed for the war effort, but Jon had insisted. Brienne already stood out in her own way. They needed to blend in as much as possible. Tormund had seen no other option but to agree.

He wore a green, long-sleeved shirt of a material not too heavy but durable enough to keep him protected, with thin leather laces at his neck. His breeches were doeskin, ideal for the winter cold of the North. Boots of the finest leather covered his large feet and lower legs.

Over all of it he wore a hooded cloak of a thick, dark brown material, lined with the pelt of a bear. It had suited him much more than a wolf's, Jon told him, and it kept him very warm.

Brienne wore something much like his, her cloak many times lighter in color, nearly cream, with an ermine lining. Her light blue blouse went well with her blonde hair, and Tormund smiled as he looked at her.

Sansa had thought it feminine and beautiful, two things Brienne cared nothing for. She had much preferred to wear her armor, but had followed the advice to pack it up with their affects, which would go with them onto the ship at White Harbor.

Between Sansa's excitement, and the heat in Tormund's gaze when they'd both seen her, Brienne relented. She did feel good in her new clothes. The soft fabric hugged her skin just right, and she felt truly attractive for the first time in her life.

It would certainly make a great impression on her lord father.

"Safe journey to you both, friend," Jon said to Tormund, clapping him on his back. "I look forward to hearing what Lord Selwyn's response is to your offer. Let him know that you have a keep to bring your bride to, so he need not worry that she's staying in a fur tent in blizzard-ridden lands."

Tormund nodded. One of Jon's first tasks in his new post as King in the North, was to award Tormund and his Wildlings with Last Hearth, a keep that was once the seat of house Umber, now gone. The castle was northernmost of any other, which kept him close to his former home.

The castle was bordered by forests rich in timber and game. Yes, it was a great reward indeed.

He and his people had rejoiced in finally having a place to call home inside the Wall. The lands were harsh, but a living could be made off them. Tormund looked forward to settling in and watching his people thrive.

He knew they would have to defeat the great threat beyond the Wall before they could truly be comfortable. If the Night's Watch fell, Last Hearth would be the first major keep the White Walkers would find. He could not subject Brienne and his people to that.

He considered his friend. "You sure you don't want us to stay and help prepare?" he asked. "We could wait, you know, until the threat of the Walkers is past. I'm sure Brienne would understand."

Brienne, having overhead, quickly turned from Sansa and nodded her head in agreement. She felt the timing was terrible, like she was abandoning her vow to watch over lady Sansa. She and Tormund were more than willing to put their personal matters on hold for the greater good.

They were gainsaid by both Jon and Sansa, the siblings wanting them to have the happiness they craved. They knew the coming months could be their last. The North would continue to prepare as well as garnering more support in their absence.

Brienne and Tormund were assured that everything was well in hand and that they would not be missed so much that they could not attend to this one errand, even if the journey would take a couple weeks at least.

So here they were. With one last farewell, the party set off. Fresh snows had fallen during the night, and some small flurries continued to fall. The air was quiet, sounds muffled under the thick blanket beneath their horse's hooves.

They rode at a good pace most of the day. The way was easy along the Kingsroad, and they encountered none but peasants on the route. By the by, they cut from the road, following the White Knife and eventually fording it. The river lead them directly to the harbor.

The sun was about to set when they finally saw the great white city on the sea, its rooves shining like pearls in the withering daylight. The salt air hit them long before, and the snow-filled clouds had dispersed, painting the scenery with a kiss of golden sunlight.

Brienne was amazed. She'd never been to White Harbor, having grown up in the south. As an adult, her path had always led elsewhere. What a wonder and beauty this city was to behold. She hoped to visit more often in the future.

They supped in New Castle, seat of the Manderlys, before boarding the ship that would take them south. Traveling by night was wise, though more hazardous. But they had been assured that their crew were well-versed in navigating the waters by moon and starlight.

The men made ready as Tormund and Brienne boarded and prepared to be shown their cabin. The captain was stout and stern-looking, and commanded his subordinates with confidence. He introduced himself and smiled kindly at the couple as they made their way past.

Their lodgings were cozy, comfortable, and well-lit with wall sconces. As the small vessel cast off and began lurching toward the mouth of the Knife, the two settled in for the night.

It was difficult to relax, but in time, they both succumbed to the exhaustion that finally caught up to them from their travels. Thus was the first night of their journey.

Between leaving Winterfell and sailing the Narrow Sea, it would be nearly three weeks before they neared the Sapphire Isle. They stopped in Gulltown to resupply. The busy port city offered an array of foods and goods that ensured they would be well-stocked the rest of the way. The crew were able to get a brief moment's respite before resuming their duties.

Brienne enjoyed the constant look of amazement on Tormund's face. He'd never been anywhere near this far south, and his face was full of almost childlike wonderment at the different sights, sounds, and smells that greeted him. He eyed some the people with such astonishment he received some odd looks of his own.

It was the only stop they would make, for once they had sailed out of the Bay of Crabs they would be in Crownland waters. The ship was turned further out onto the Narrow Sea to remain out of site to any who watched.

No one troubled them. They saw very few vessels on the water, save for merchant vessels here and there. The captain informed them that they had a fair wind, and that the sea would bear them to their destination within two days.

Brienne sighed with relief. They were very fortunate.

The evening was upon them, and Tormund, having finally gained his sea legs, was looking a lot better than he had for the first leg of their journey, when he'd been struck with a vicious bout of seasickness.

His coloring certainly looked better, and his mood was improved as well. Of course, who wouldn't feel better now that they weren't constantly heaving over the side of the ship?

He joined his betrothed as she looked out at the darkening sea. Walking up behind, Tormund wrapped his thick arms around Brienne's waist, laying a soft kiss on the side of her neck. She shifted so she leaned against him.

"Almost there now," he noted. "How do you feel?"

She hummed softly, enjoying the feel of his strong, solid body at her back. "I am surprisingly calm. I know my father will be very happy to see me. I haven't been home in quite a while." She turned in his arms, draping her arms around his neck. "I only hope he doesn't give you a hard time. I am his only beloved daughter, after all."

Tormund's mouth tilted slightly. "I can handle anything if it means I can have you." He tugged her closer so they were flush, their heat mingling. His head descended, and he took her lips.

At first, it was chaste, a moment between themselves to celebrate their luck. But soon, light movements became more earnest as passion ignited between them. They had not made love since their trip had begun, Tormund's sickness making it impossible, and Brienne thinking only of caring for him.

But now he was well, and, with their journey nearing its end, the two moved below deck to reacquaint themselves. The moonlight shown through their cabin window, the ghostly light shining across the room as Tormund slowly moved deeply within her.

Their breaths mingled as their bodies did, hands entwined, hearts connected. It was unknown how the lord of Evenfall Hall would cope with his daughter's decision. But for tonight, all of their worries and duties disappeared, leaving just the two of them.

They would cope with the consequences, should there be any, when they came. Together.

Two days later, their destination came into sight, the tall, great castle sitting atop the cliffs Brienne knew like the back of her hand. She smiled to herself, her love at her side. It was just as she remembered it. Would her lord father be as she remembered him?

They dropped anchor just outside the small harbor, and Tormund helped Brienne onto the small rowboat that would take them in. Lord Selwyn was expecting them, and she was able to pick him out immediately, standing among a small group of his men as they awaited them on land.

Her smile shone brightly, and when the boat came to the shore after what seemed like an eternity, Brienne jumped out and ran to her father as though she were a girl again. She flew into her father's arms, and the two of them laughed as he kissed her face and stroked her short hair.

"My little girl," her father sighed against her, neither wanting to let the other go.

Brienne closed her eyes, feeling them sting with tears. "I missed you, father."

"And I you," Lord Selwyn replied. He finally pulled back, if only enough to look at her. "You must have been winning fights if you're standing here with me." He inspected her. "You look no worse for wear. Your training has not been in vain."

She nodded. "Yes, I have." The Hound's face flashed in her mind. "I've managed to survive thanks to your teachings."  She looked at his sweet face.  His hair had gotten grayer over the years, but his arms were still strong as ever.

Lord Selwyn grinned. "I had no choice. You'd have gotten yourself killed had I not." He finally looked up, noticing Tormund. "I see you have a guest."

"Of course," she pulled away and beaconed Tormund closer. The letter she'd sent ahead had only detailed that she was coming to see her lord father with an important matter. She hadn't specified, wanting to ask him in person.

"Father," she began as Tormund came to her side. "This is Tormund. He fought alongside the new King in the North in the recent battle for Winterfell."

"Hello, my lord," Tormund mumbled before straightening his voice. "I am glad to meet you."

Brienne had schooled him on what he should say when he finally met Lord Selwyn. Her father was more likely to look on him in a positive way if he spoke with respect.

Her father had no need of inane chatter to stoke his ego. He only wanted civility and manners in his house.

Lord Selwyn shook his hand, noting how large Tormund's was. "Well met." He turned to his daughter. "Come, let us go home. It is nearly time to eat. We can talk of this important matter of yours."

Brienne shot Tormund a look as they all began the walk up the beach and to the castle. It was almost time.

The evening meal was delicious. It was so nice to be home. Her father employed the very same cook, and she was overjoyed to see Brienne again, as were many of the original staff who had known her.

As their meal wound down, Brienne began to feel more nervous. Her palms were sweaty, and Tormund watched her with reassuring eyes from across the table. It was now or never.

"Well, father," she started. "That important matter I mentioned in my letter…it involves Tormund."

Her father glanced at Tormund before returning his curious gaze to Brienne. "Yes, dear?"

Tormund interrupted. "I believe I should be the one to say it, or ask it more like." He stared at her father for a moment, his green eyes serious. Taking a breath, he began speaking calmly. "I came all this way, because I want your daughter to be my wife."

Lord Selwyn's gray eyes widened a fraction. "You wish to ask for Brienne's hand?" He turned to Brienne, his mouth slightly open. He was truly shocked. No one had ever asked for her hand, not voluntarily. He had always had to make promises of inherited wealth to achieve a betrothal.

All three of his original efforts had fallen through. But here was this big, red-bearded man offering to marry his most unusual daughter without coercion of any kind?

Lord Selwyn was well and truly speechless.

When he finally gained his words, he searched Tormund's face. "You truly wish to marry Brienne?" When Tormund nodded, Lord Selwyn smiled. "I am all astonishment. But that is not to say this isn't welcomed news."

Brienne smiled at Tormund, feeling relieved at her father's happiness. She had hidden it well, but deep down she had been very worried for her father's approval."

Her father ordered wine to be brought in. "We have much to celebrate," he said, smiling. When the drink was in hand, he continued. "I would know more about you, sir. From what house do you hail?"

Tormund's mouth opened to respond, but he had no words. He finally looked to Brienne, not sure what to say.

"He's from the North, father," Brienne answered.

"So, you are from house Manderly, Mormont, or perhaps Glover? You're much too red to be a Stark, since I know you're not one of Lady Catelyn's children. Your eyes aren't shifty like those cursed Boltons either. So, which is it?" He stared at Tormund, intent on an answer.

"I am…" There was no other way to say it. Tormund sat up straighter in his chair and looked Lord Selwyn in his eyes. "I am Tormund Giantsbane, and I am from the _far_ North, _north of the Wall_."

Brienne watched as the smile died on her father's face, as his eyes widened with realization. His head swung to his daughter. "Br-Brienne…" he stammered, his shock evident. "You mean to tell me you've brought a _Wildling_ to my home, to sit at _my_ table?"

His eyes widened even more. "To marry my _daughter_?!" He was yelling now, and as Lord Selwyn shot to his feet, Brienne did the same, intent on de-escalating the situation." The servants looked on, frozen as their lord became ruddy with uncharacteristic anger.

Brienne ran around the table to where Lord Selwyn was standing, rigid and angry. "Father, please—"

"How dare you do this, Brienne?" her father seethed. "I have been indulgent in teaching you the sword, in letting you go along the path of your own choosing. But _this…_ " He indicated Tormund. "…is where I draw the line!"

Tormund frowned, wanting to say something. He wanted to support Brienne as she clutched at her father's sleeves, her voice pleading with him as he disregarded her words. But she had asked him to let her do the talking, that if anything went awry, her father would be more apt to listen to her.

"I want him out of my home," Lord Selwyn was growling. "Have you not heard the stories, the terrible raids? These people are no better than animals!"

"He is not like that!" Brienne disagreed. "He led his people to fight the Boltons, to free Winterfell and the North from Ramsey alongside Jon Snow. He is a good man, father. And I love him!"

It was as if she hadn't spoken. Lord Selwyn was muttering to himself. "I should have made you stay, should have made you put down the sword and be a lady. Maybe then…"

Brienne gasped. _No…_

"I love her!" Tormund's deep voice interrupted, commanding both Brienne and her father's attention. He had come to his feet at last. "I may not be some rich twat with a title, but I love Brienne."

He turned disapproving eyes on Lord Selwyn. "You know, I could have taken her, stolen her away as is the tradition of my people. But I respected her wishes. I loved her enough to put on these stupid clothes, learn to ride a horse, and throw my guts up on a ship to do it. She wanted us to come and talk to you first, to ask your permission. So I did it. Not for you, but for _her_."

Brienne gave him a faint smile, truly moved by what he'd said. She clutched her father's arm. "Father, you know that no man other than yourself has ever loved me. We both know that I would have died alone, mocked and unwanted, had I stayed here to beg for betrothal. Even if someone had agreed, I would never be happy, and neither would they. I would rather die than be forced to marry someone who hated me."

Lord Selwyn searched her eyes. He knew she spoke truth.

"Tormund has been the best thing to happen to me in a very, very long time," she continued. "From the moment I met him, he let me know that he wanted me, _really_ wanted me. He never told me I needed to change, never mocked or chastised me. I felt like I could be myself for the first time in my life."

Her father's eyes grew sad. Even he had tried to change her once upon a time.

"Please, father," Brienne begged. "Please don't take this from me."

Lord Selwyn closed his eyes with a sigh. Opening them, he placed his hand over hers, still gripping his sleeve. "Alright, little girl," he finally said, resigned. "I see the way that young man looks at you, and you at him. I would be a fool if I didn't."

He considered her a moment before turning to stare at Tormund. "You have my leave to marry my daughter, Wildling," he conceded.

Brienne let out her breath with a hard sigh, smiling at Tormund, who returned her smile with interest.

"On one condition," Lord Selwyn continued, his eyes still intent on Tormund. The smiles froze as they looked at him. "I challenge you to a duel."

Brienne felt the floor drop from beneath her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The duel is fought, the approval of Lord Selwyn and subsequently the hand of Brienne at stake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of you still sticking around after this horribly long wait!! It's been a hard time getting my thoughts together to do much-needed updates on ANY of my works. Since last I did, I relocated from Illinois to New York in pursuit of a job. I am still getting used to my new surroundings and learning about how things work around here. The job was an adjustment, as were the people, so my mind hasn't been still enough to settle and let the ideas flow. Stress can kill creativity, at least for a while. I'm hoping my Muse will stay for a while and stop eluding me. Anyway, I hope you all like this, and that the fight isn't too anticlimactic. Please let me know. I thrive on feedback. Thanks for reading, as always!

“Father, you cannot be serious!”  Brienne was incredulous.  Her father had challenged Tormund to a duel.  There was no way he could think to win.  Tormund was large, fierce, and strong, and though Lord Selwyn was a warrior in his own right, his days of vanquishing enemies of Tormund’s ilk were done. 

He had no chance.  Surely he knew that!

Though she didn’t want to offend her lord father’s pride or sense of honor, she had to convince him not to take this foolish course of action.  “There is no need.  You’ve already agreed that we can marry.  Of what use is a duel?”

“He must prove himself,” her father answered, his eyes steely with resolve.  “I am determined to see that he is strong enough to defend you from your enemies, that he will answer disrespect of his wife with force if need be.”

She tried again to convince him, but when he proved more stubborn than a mule, she decided to be blunt.  “Father, he will _kill_ you!”

Lord Selwyn’s eyes turned to her face, his eyebrows raised.  Brienne instantly felt remorse.  She shouldn’t have said it that way, regardless of how truthful her words were.  She was about to apologize profusely when his next words stopped her.

“Little girl,” he said in admonishment.  “What are you thinking?  It is not _I_ who will fight the Wildling.”  He snorted as he turned back to look at Tormund in his tall, brawny glory.  “Surely not.  I would certainly lose.”

Brienne was confused.  “Then who…?”

Her father looked at her as though she were slow-witted.  “Why...you, of course, dear.”

“What?!  Me?  But why?”  Brienne’s mouth hung open as she looked at him, his expression decidedly smug.

“Do you not remember what you told old Ser Humphrey Wagstaff, when he told you he’d make a lady of you were you to marry him?  He said he would absolutely forbid you to touch a sword once you were his wife.”

Brienne’s lips turned up in a sneer at the memory.  “I told him the only way I would agree to such a life was if he could defeat me in combat.  I refused to submit to a man weaker than me.”  Her eyes widened when she realized how her words had damned her.

Lord Selwyn beamed.  “Exactly.  You will test this man and see if he is worthy of you.”

“But fath—“

“Naturally,” he interrupted.  “It will only be to first blood, or stopped in the event one of you yields.  I would not have either of you seriously hurt.”

Brienne shook her head, shifting her gaze to Tormund.  “I do not think this is necessary.”  Her breath caught at the expression on her betrothed’s face.  His mouth was pulled up in a grin of anticipation, his fingers flexing as though he were trying to loosen them up, as if spoiling for a fight.

Tormund was actually _excited_ about this!

He winked at her, his eyes shining.  Brienne frowned at him before turning from both men in a huff and marching from the room.  She needed to be alone, to calm down from the foolishness her father had involved her in.

Of course she would honor his wishes, but it was all such nonsense.  She wanted to marry Tormund, and he her.  What difference would a duel make?  But then she thought of her years growing up, of her father constantly having to defend her when some foppish lord insulted her.

Brienne sighed.  He was only making sure Tormund could take his place in that role, as her protector and shield.  He would certainly be taking an unusual woman to wife. 

Partnered with the fact that he would be a Wildling made into nobility, he needed to prepare himself to answer the inevitable affronts that would come against her, against them both.

She sighed, shaking her head.  _Oh, father._   He was growing old, frail, and Brienne knew one day soon he would join her mother, brother, and sisters.  Soon she would be the only Tarth that remained, and if a man truly wanted to walk by her side, he needed to be strong.  He needed to be worthy.

Her father was right.

Feeling suddenly sad and weary, Brienne went to her chambers, lying down on her bed to rest and think.  Soon, she was fast asleep.

When she woke, the sun had set, and night darkened the corners of her room.  Coming to a sitting position, Brienne considered how long she’d been asleep.  Surely her father would have sent someone to fetch her?  Where was Tormund?

She went down to the main hall, and there they were, her father and would-be betrothed, talking as if old friends.   Each had a cup of what was most likely her father’s favorite mead.

They quieted at her approach.  “Did you rest well, daughter?” her father asked with a smile.

Brienne considered him before answering.  Somehow the two seemed suspicious.  “I did, father.  I trust you and Tormund have become…better acquainted?”

“We have,” he responded.  Rising, he moved towards the kitchen.  “I’ll have someone get you something to drink, perhaps some fruit.”   He disappeared through the door.

Brienne turned her gaze on Tormund, who wore a grin that raised her hackles.  “What were you talking about?” she asked. 

Tormund’s grin grew.  “You.  Your father told me about some of your suitors.  I don’t know about him, but I’m glad they failed.  Now, you can be mine.”

Her face heated at the possessive words and determined tone to his voice.  But his next words quickly broke the spell.

“You can yield now if you want,” Tormund said matter-of-factly.  “We don’t have to fight.  I would much rather love you than hurt you.”

Stiffening her shoulders, she glared at him.  “What makes you think _you_ would hurt _me_?”

Tormund chuckled.  “Oh, come on,” he said in jest.  “We both know I’m bigger, stronger, and much more likely to win in a fight.  I’m a Wildling.  Our fights are bloody and savage.  You couldn’t challenge me.”

Brienne gave him a surly smile in return.  “You have no idea how I fight.  I’ve bested knights and brigands of all types, all of them believing they would never fall to a woman.”  She smiled as her father returned with some wine and strawberries for her.

Taking the offered goblet and biting into the fruit, she chewed slowly, staring at Tormund.  She smiled again, the expression more a baring of teeth than anything.  “We shall see, Wildling,” she murmured ominously, and Tormund was suddenly filled with unease. 

“We will duel on the morn,” she added.  “Then we will see who will be hurt.”

Tormund glanced at Lord Selwyn, who smiled knowingly.  He knew that determined look on his daughter’s face.  The Wildling would have his work cut out for him.

The trio sat and drank, making conversation on various topics.  All the while, the impending duel sat over them like a cloud.  Before long, Brienne rose, ready to retire for the night.   She was tired despite her nap, and kissed her father goodnight.  Glancing at Tormund with a smile, she departed.

She was changed and lying in bed when her lover knocked at her chamber door later that evening.  When she called for him to enter, Tormund opened the door and slipped in.

“Come to beg for mercy?” Brienne joked, sitting up in bed.  Tormund came to sit by her as she shifted over. 

“I came to say goodnight to the woman I will claim tomorrow.” 

 “You are truly certain you will win,” Brienne observed.  “Do I seem so weak?”

“No,” he answered.  “But I will _still_ win.”  He smiled gleefully.

Brienne laughed despite herself.  “Oh, I cannot wait to humble you in the morning.”

Grin still in place, Tormund moved his hand, sliding it up her neck to cup the strong angle of her jaw.  “I think I will enjoy that,” he noted before pulling her in for a kiss.  

Her lips were soft beneath his, and with gentle urging, she opened for his tongue.   His other arm wound around her, moving her body in to close the distance between them. 

Brienne sighed against him, her arms snaking around his thick neck.  She was nearly lost to his kiss, but as his hand eased downward, destined for the hem of her night shift, she pulled away.

At his half-lidded, dazed look, Brienne shook her head.  “We are in my father’s house now, my love,” she cajoled her disappointed lover.  “He will most certainly not approve of us sharing a bed under his roof.  Best not to anger him, especially when we have only barely earned his approval as it is.”

Tormund’s breaths were heavy, and he closed his eyes in an attempt to calm the lust racing through him.  He had initially come to say goodnight, and to wish his betrothed luck. 

But the light from the flickering flames in the hearth had painted Brienne’s skin with a golden glow that made her eyes shine and her hair gleam in the muted light.  And her lips, pink and pouting, had beaconed him.  He’d been unable to resist touching her.

Opening his eyes, he stared at the mouth that even now enticed him.  His hands gripped her hips through the blankets that covered her.  Hooded, green eyes wandered lower, to the cradle of her femininity, hidden under covers stuffed with goose down.

“Can’t I have a taste?” he asked, desire deepening his husky voice. 

Brienne saw where his gaze settled, and she felt her body respond in kind.  She knew they really shouldn’t.  She glanced at the door, her mind debating.  Maybe, if they were quiet…

It was wrong, but Tormund was good at pleasing her…very good.  When she turned back, he was looking directly into her face.  “A taste,” he reiterated.  “That’s all.”  He watched her face for his answer.

She blinked at him a few times before her eyes softened.  It was all the answer Tormund needed.  His hands slipped the sheets from her within seconds, and before Brienne knew it, she was writhing, a hand over her mouth to stifle the moans and whimpers that threatened.

Soon, his tongue, lips, and fingers pushed her over the edge.  She quickly turned her face into her pillow, her long, guttural moans reaching a crescendo.  When the spasms finally ceased, she turned away to find Tormund grinning down at her with jovial, almost innocent green eyes.

Her eyes lowered to his lap, where the bulge of his arousal protruded.  When she tried to reach for him, he rose from the bed.  “But..?”

“Just a taste, remember?” he asked as he gave her one last kiss.  She could smell herself on his face, taste it on him, and her body still wanted him.  But he grinned as he turned, letting himself quietly out the door. 

“See you in the morning,” he murmured, closing the door behind him.

Brienne let herself lie back with a huff.  It would likely take a while before she could sleep.  All the better.  Perhaps the frustration would be fuel for her fight tomorrow.

* * *

The morning dawned foggy and cool as everyone took their places.  Brienne stretched her limbs, readying her body and making sure her armor was adjusted properly.  Without Pod, who knew her better than any when it came to her armaments, she had to coach one of the other squires to help her. 

So far, all was as it should be.  The boy wasn’t perfect, but he would do.

Her gaze shifted as a tall, muscular figure emerged from the fog.  Green eyes lanced her as Tormund walked into the courtyard, a smirk adorning his face. 

Brienne lifted an eyebrow.  Perhaps he wasn’t taking her seriously.  It became painfully clear when he walked…no, _sauntered_ , over to the area where one of her father’s men waited to serve as his second.

The young man looked intimidated, probably hadn’t seen a Wildling before in his life.  He watched Tormund intently, listening for any instructions.  But Tormund ignored him, stretching his shoulders and shaking out his neck in anticipation of the fight to come.

Satisfied that he was ready, he once again grinned at Brienne.  “You can give up now if you want, lass,” he called out, the very picture of confidence.  “I won’t think less of you if you do.”  He laughed when she frowned at him.

Without a word, Brienne donned her helm and pulled Oathkeeper from its sheath.  She had wanted to use wooden practice swords, but Tormund had insisted on steel, assured that he couldn’t possibly lose. 

She would have to show him just how wrong he was.  It wouldn’t be the first time she was underestimated by a man.

Once the two combatants were ready, Lord Selwyn approached.  He checked over his daughter’s armor and nodded in approval before moving to Tormund and ensuring he was ready. 

Walking to what served as the center of the bout, he raised both arms.  “This melee will be to first blood or until one combatant yields to the other.  You are to avoid strikes to vital areas if at all possible to avoid accidents.  I will serve as the impartial officiate and will give no advantage to either party, regardless of my relation to Brienne.  Agreed?”

Tormund nodded.  He wasn’t completely sure what “impartial” and “officiate” meant, but if agreeing meant the fight would finally begin, he was more than ready to do so.  He was eager to see just how great a fighter his Brienne was.

What better way to judge than by meeting her blade with his own? 

True he didn’t expect much of a fight.  It would only go to first blood, and he hardly expected either of them to go all out, considering they loved each other.  But he hoped to at least get a taste of her prowess.

He beckoned to Brienne one last time.  “Are you sure you don’t wish to yield, love?” he asked with a smirk, waggling his eyebrows.  “Last chance.”

Her hand squeezed hard on the grip of her sword.  “Let us begin,” she hissed, causing Tormund to chuckle.

Having stated the rules and received the fighters’ understanding, Lord Selwyn stepped back, dropping his arms.  “Begin!”

Brienne advanced, as did Tormund, and they met near the center of the courtyard.   Tormund’s eyes flew wide as she continued her advance, moving aggressively at him, sword raised.  She came down hard with Oathkeeper, breaking Tormund’s guard.

As he recovered, Brienne pushed forward, shoving her shoulder hard into his chest, nearly knocking him off his feet entirely.  He stumbled back, and managed to regain his footing, regarding his lover with surprise and a newfound respect.

She in turn stared as she stood in place, her gaze cutting him almost as her sword would.

Her blue eyes were like ice, warrior’s eyes, and Tormund realized that she was to be taken seriously, or he would lose this fight.  That in mind, he steeled himself for another attack.  “Come on, then,” he said, his voice a growl.

With a shout, Brienne came after him, driving her sword in a down stroke, intent on breaking his guard once again.  Tormund had learned his lesson however, and this time he was ready for her.

He parried, his blade meeting hers with a deafening clang as he warded her off.  Again and again she struck at him, and he defended himself much the same.  He had to admit, it was as challenging as if he were facing another man.  She truly was a force to be reckoned with.

Lord Selwyn watched closely, looking for either of them to gain the advantage.  He hid his pride in his daughter, even as his heart smiled.  Brienne was amazing.  Her blows were heavy and precise, a testament to the many years of harrowing training he had put her through.  The lessons certainly hadn’t been wasted.  _That’s my girl._

He only hoped she didn’t frighten the Wildling away.   He knew how men were, and a man’s pride could cow him from taking a bride who could compete with him in combat.

Brienne’s blade rang against Tormund’s a half dozen more times before he finally made his own offensive move.  He put all his strength into one last parry, knocking Brienne’s blade outward, leaving her exposed.  Before she could recover, he rushed forward, tackling his lover roughly to the ground. 

Oathkeeper flew from her hand on impact, and Tormund used that advantage to point his own sword at her throat as he straddled her legs.  “Do you yield?”

She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling laboriously even in her armor.  Her eyes pinned him, and he knew without a doubt that the fight was not over.  This was proven a moment later, when she violently bucked her hips beneath him, toppling him off and to the side.

The fight became a grappling match as Brienne quickly used Tormund’s momentary incapacitation to snag his sword.  She tried to rip it from his hand, but he held on, and the two fought over the blade.

When his head was flung back by a blow to his chin, Tormund coughed, as much from surprise as from the blow itself.  He couldn’t believe she’d struck him!  He had to admit, the girl could throw a decent punch.

 Deciding it was time to end this fight, Tormund threw his weight, flipping their position so that Brienne was once again beneath him.  Before he could press his advantage, he froze.

She had drawn a dagger, from where he could not say, and pressed it to his throat.  He could feel the blade, its tip poised to bite through flesh and wound him.  His eyes moved to her face.  She was deadly serious, even as she drew labored breaths, winded by their struggle.

“Do you yield?” she asked breathlessly.

“Do _you_?” he breathed, pushing his own blade into her armpit, applying the barest of pressure so that she could feel it.  Brienne gasped.  She hadn't even seen his blade change position!

It would appear they were at an impasse.  Pride demanded she fight on, but she saw no feasible way out of this.   Tormund was determined as well, his jaw hard, stubborn.  Neither wanted to be the first to accept defeat.

“It would seem this match is over,” Lord Selwyn declared, smiling, thankful to stop the contest before things got out of control.  “We have a draw.”  He waited for the two to rise.  Brienne had definitely met her match in the big Wildling, who proved to be just as tenacious as his beloved daughter.

Only when Tormund withdrew his blade did Brienne finally pull her dagger from his throat.  The two struggled to their feet, neither wanting to appear defeated.  Her father patted them both on their backs, his amused expression belying the tension between them.

“You both did very well,” he said.  “I haven’t seen such an evenly-matched pair in a long time.”  He turned to Tormund, giving his hand a shake.  “Sir, I have full confidence that you are a fitting partner for my Brienne.  You have my blessing to take her for your wife.”

With that, the Lord of Evenfall went inside his keep, leaving the two lovers to watch after him in bafflement.  When their gazes finally met, Tormund’s stern expression gave way to his usual mischievous smirk.

Brienne narrowed her eyes at him.  “I would have beaten you anyway,” she harrumphed as she reclaimed her sword and walked away purposefully, taking the same path her father did, her substitute squire running to catch up.

Tormund shook his head, proud and amused by his bull-headed betrothed.  At least their marriage would never suffer from boredom.  She would give as hard as she got, never letting him have the upper hand if she could help it. 

He looked forward to it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tormund and Brienne embark on their return to Winterfell. On the way, they see something neither thought they would ever see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the EXTREME delay in updating this story. It's a little harder than I thought to write this without inspiration of the show to aid the storytelling. But I'm giving it a try. Mix that with intermittent writer's block, and you get my drift. I hope you all like this. Please let me know what you think! I really appreciate you guys for sticking with this story!

**B** rienne woke slowly.  The gentle ebb and flow of the ship tempted her back to unconsciousness, but the soft light beaming through the window in their cabin told her that it was past dawn.  Perhaps the captain and crew could use some assistance with their duties.

Soft snoring caught her attention.  Smiling, she noted the thick arm sprinkled with copper hairs wrapped around her waist.  Tormund was still sleeping soundly, and she resigned herself to staying in the arms of her betrothed a little longer.  With all that had transpired over the last few weeks, he needed his rest.  She’d not disturb him.

 _Her betrothed._   It was official now.  With her lord father’s approval, and the news sure to be spread throughout their lands, the marriage was becoming more real every day.  It had always been real in her mind, but now she could move forward free of guilt and apprehension.

If she were honest with herself, she knew she would have married Tormund anyway, with or without approval.  Brienne had known very little kindness and affection in her life, and Tormund had brought a love so strong and pure that she would be a fool to let that slip through her fingers.

But even with that realization, she was grateful she hadn’t had to defy her father.  Lord Selwyn had been a firm but doting parent who had protected her from the cruelties of nobility.  He’d loved her and nurtured her through the hardest of times, when she’d been looked on as a pariah, as an oddity.

It would have broken her heart to disappoint or hurt him in any way.

She sighed, staring at the ceiling.  A wife.  She wouldn’t have believed it a year ago or any year before this very moment.  She had accepted her lot in life, that she would never be wed and would live and die with a sword in her hand, fighting men rather than being loved by them.

But Tormund had come along and changed everything.  The sun finally shone on her dismal life full or more struggles than happiness.  The struggles would remain to be sure.  She had no doubt of that.  But now she had someone to share the burden.  She didn’t always have to be the strong one, and it felt good to know that.

Brienne thumbed the metal chain around her neck until her fingers glanced over the token her betrothed had given her before they had left the Sapphire Isle three days ago.  It consisted of a bear made from bone. 

It had been whittled into shape and polished until it was smooth to the touch.  Along the chain were glass beads in deepest blue and sea green.  Tormund had taken great pride in gifting it to her.  She knew her father had supplied some of the components, specifically the beads. 

Tormund had provided the bone himself, having taken it from a large bear he’d killed during one of his hunts many moons ago.  He’d happily regaled her with his exploits in the Northern wilds.

Lord Selwyn employed artisans who frequently stopped by their island with their wares.  He must have given them to Tormund, and he in turn had toiled secretly, most likely as she’d slept.  She felt her heart warm at the thought of the two most important men in her life working together to make her feel special.

As if he could sense her thinking about him, Tormund tightened an arm around her waist.  He lifted sleep-heavy eyes to hers. The green orbs spied her playing with his token.  “Do you like it?” he asked her.

Brienne smiled.  “I love it.  You could not have chosen a better gift for me.”  She kissed his nose as his mouth stretched into a grin.  “Thank you.”

He nodded in response, and they were quiet for a while in companionable silence.  Tormund observed Brienne’s furrowed brow and increasingly concerned expression.  “What’s wrong?”

“I just wonder what will happen when we return to the North,” she answered.   “I hope Lady Sansa and King Jon are well.  And what of what they told us about, the White Walkers?  How will we deal with a threat such as that?”

Tormund rose up, rolling her back so that he leaned over her.  “There’s nothing to be done about it from this boat, luv,” he said, taking her mouth in a kiss.  When they separated he rubbed his thumb across her lips.  “We will just have to see when we get there.”

He was right.  There was no use fretting about things now.  All they could do was get back to the North and see what the situation was at that time.  Then they could act.

“What about you?” she asked.  “I am sure that the king will grant you lands.  You will be the lord of a keep.”

“And you will be my lady,” he said with assurance. 

“Will your people, the other Wildlings, listen to me?” Brienne groused.  “I am a southerner after all.  I’m not one of you.”

Tormund’s hands had begun to wander, and he watched her face as he gently pinched and pulled one of her nipples.  “They will respect you, because if they do that…” he lowered his face to her breast.  “They respect me.”

Her breath quickened as his tongue and lips teased her flesh into a hard peak.  “You need to think about something else,” her lover murmured.  “Let me help you with that.”

He spent the next hour “helping” her.

* * *

They dressed quickly, finally rising from their room at nearly noon.  Brienne awkwardly greeted the captain, who looked at them knowingly.  He knew a love struck couple when he saw one. 

“Do you require any assistance around the ship?” Brienne asked, wanting to make herself useful. 

“No milady,” the captain responded.  “Most is done now, and I’ve plenty of men to keep the ship running smooth.  The return trip is always faster.  With such a good headwind, we’ll have you back to White Harbor in no time.”

Brienne nodded.  She asked him to find her should he need anything, and excused herself to go and stand by Tormund, who was watching the view.  The sea was rough today, but not so much as to cause concern amongst the crew. 

Tormund was holding up well.  He hadn’t complained of sickness once since they started their journey.  Perhaps he’d finally gotten his sea legs.  The speed at which he did so spoke of his adaptability.  Brienne had grown up sailing the Narrow Sea near her home, so she was used to ships.

She’d even sailed to Pentos a time or two with her lord father. 

 Smiling at the memory, Brienne came to Tormund’s side, leaning against him so their hips touched.  She looked up only to see him focused on something out at sea.  “What is it?”

“ _What is that_?” he asked slowly, his eyes wide.  Following his line of sight, Brienne gasped softly.

Even from a distance, the beast was large.  Wings black as night carried him high above the water as he wheeled into the sky.  Its flight was almost playful as it flipped and dove, completely unaware of the frightened perusal of the duo on the ship.

Thankfully, it did not seem to notice the ship, completely focused on its own business.  Tormund and Brienne watched as it dove suddenly only to appear moments later with a large fish clutched in its jaws.  The beast promptly flipped the fish into the sky, bathing it in _fire_ before allowing the morsel to fall into its waiting maw.

Then, apparently satisfied with its meal, the animal flew off, disappearing to the east towards where Pentos and the other Free Cities lay.  Brienne thanked the Seven for that.

“Have you ever seen such a beast?” Tormund asked her, his gaze still glued to the last place he’d seen it.

“No,” she answered.  “But I have heard of them before.  That…was a dragon.”  She had hardly believed the stories to begin with.  But the tales had said they were gone from the world, never to return. 

To see one in the flesh, large, magnificent, and terrifying…she had no words to convey how she felt.  She’d never thought they could still exist let alone that she’d see one in her lifetime.  It was an amazing, yet frightening, experience. 

This dragon had been larger than anything Brienne had even seen and would have dwarfed their vessel had it saw fit to investigate them.  Thank the Seven it hadn’t.

She looked around the ship.  Everyone was going about their duties as if nothing had happened.  Had no one else seen the beast?  Baffled, she turned back to Tormund.  “I think we alone saw the thing.”

“Maybe that’s good,” Tormund mused.  “They would have panicked for sure.”

Brienne nodded.  “His grace will want to know what we’ve seen today.”  She thought about the news circulating Westeros of the Targaryen girl said to still be drawing breath and possibly gathering an army.  Could this be a harbinger of yet another war?  They had no way of knowing.

Brienne had much to think of.  And soon, so would Jon Snow.

Their ship was making good time, and soon night approached.  Brienne retired, feeling suddenly weary, and was soon followed by her betrothed. 

Tormund watched his lover sleep for a while before disrobing and climbing in with her.  She woke when she felt the bed dip with his weight. 

“Are you unwell?” he asked her.  She didn’t usually fall to sleep so quickly in the evening.

“I am hale,” she responded.  “I’m just exhausted.  I hope the return journey does not take quite as long as the last.”

“Aye,” Tormund agreed.  He paused, then placed an inquisitive hand on Brienne’s belly.  “Love, do you think you may be with child?”

She shook her head, adamant.  “No.  That’s not possible.”

“What do you mean?”  The thought of not being able to have children with Brienne made his heart lurch with alarm.  The sentiment must have clouded his eyes, for she laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“No, my love.  I mean, it is not possible _right now_.  I was able to procure a special herb from a maester who was working in Molestown when I went there with my lady Sansa to speak with Littlefinger.  The…er, ladies I met there told me it wards off pregnancy until the woman desires to bear children.”

Her words were an instant relief.  “Oh,” he answered, though he knew nothing of what she spoke.  Wildling women typically relied on a man’s ability to release outside of her body when the time came.  Sometimes it worked.  Most times it didn’t.

If that herb worked _this_ well to keep his seed from taking root within Brienne, he would have to tell the women about this.  They would definitely be grateful. 

He eased his lover back, covering her body with his.  Kissing her deeply, his hand came up to cradle her breast as he ground his hardening manhood against her.  He parted his lips from hers, his eyes hungry as they gazed at her.  “Why don’t we put this special herb to the test?”

Brienne could not have denied him if she wanted to.

* * *

Twelve days later, Tormund and Brienne arrived at White Harbor.  Tired as they were, they decided to set off for Winterfell immediately.  They had sailed through the night, and had disembarked from their ship in the early morning. 

Lord Manderly sent an escort of his men to take them the duration of their trip.  Their horses were well-rested and eager for exercise, and so they made good time northward.

A brief rest and a small serving of food had them on the move again.  They retraced their route past Castle Cerwyn, moving steadily on.  It was just after dusk when Winterfell finally came into their sights.  Brienne spurred her horse forward, ever eager to see her lady and to be within the shelter of warm walls again. 

Gods but the North was an unforgivingly cold place.  It would be quite a while before Brienne was truly adjusted to it.

A shout was raised, and the gates were opened wide as the party rode in.  Workers took their horses and busied themselves with unloading their belongings.  Brienne and Tormund made their way to the main hall to speak with the King.

Jon was nearly finished with his supper, the hall nearly empty save for a few servants and a contingent of guards.  When he saw that his friends had returned, he ordered more food for them, and they all sat down to break bread together.  He sent for Lady Sansa.

The mead was a welcome warmth to their cold bodies, and they talked of their journey, of Brienne’s father and of Tormund’s duel with her, the fact that they were officially betrothed. 

When Sansa appeared, Brienne was swept into a hug, and she showed her the necklace Tormund had made for her.  They spoke in soft, excited voices as the men conversed to themselves.  Her attention was reclaimed by Jon, whose eyes were alight with interest.

“Is it true?  You saw a dragon?”

Brienne nodded as many sets of eyes moved toward them with interest.  “Yes, your grace.  We saw it as we sailed near to the coast of Essos to avoid detection by Kings Landing.  The beast was large and appeared to be fishing.”

Jon was struck speechless for a moment.  “Would that I had been able to see it with my own eyes,” he murmured.  His face sobered as he thought to himself about the ramifications of this news.  “Do you think this means…that the rumors of Daenerys Targaryen and her forces are true?”

“It is difficult to say, Your Grace,” Brienne answered, even at Jon’s censuring look at the use of his title.  “We don’t even know if this creature is allied with her.  What _is_ clear is that we are not prepared to face the threat of the White Walkers _and_ another army.”

“Or dragons,” Sansa chimed in.  She turned concerned eyes on her brother.  “If our fears prove true, and we face the Walkers _and_ Targaryen armies, what will we do, Jon?”

The king shook his head, his eyes thoughtful.  “I don’t know, Sansa,” he answered soberly.  “I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah...that was obviously Drogon. I know he likes to traipse off on little dragon field trips on his own sometimes, so I used this as one of those occasions. I think it's amazing how he goes off on his own but is always there when Dani needs him. I know in the show she's on her way across the ocean. Well, maybe Drogon flew ahead for a spell. Who knows with that dragon? What did you think?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tormund is to head to Eastwatch by the Sea. How will Brienne take this new development, and how will it affect their relationship?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Here's an update! Wow, GoT! What a season, right?! Went too quickly for me, but hopefully next season will be as intense as this one was. I hope you enjoy this chapter! I am trying to bounce off of events that actually occurred on the show. Please let me know what you think. Thanks, as always for reading and commenting!

 

 **T** ormund was going to Eastwatch by the Sea.  The King in the North had requested that he and his Wildlings man the castles of the Night’s Watch, most notably the old, empty port fortress by the Shivering Sea.

Brienne had tensed when she’d heard Jon make his request, knowing in her heart that her betrothed would never shrink from doing such a duty.  Their eyes met across the great hall where all the lords, ladies, and knights were meeting.

“Then that’s where I’ll go,” Tormund said with a smirk, his gaze fixed on hers.  “Looks like we’re the Night’s Watch now.” He then took his seat.

Brienne couldn’t bring herself to join in his mirth.  How could she?  Who knew what would befall him in that terrible, empty, frozen place?  What if the dead attacked?  She turned away from his intense stare, keeping her face bland though she screamed inside.  She had to keep her composure, lest tears gather.  There would be time for that later. 

It was difficult to think of anything else, even as Sansa argued with Jon about the fates of the Umbers and Carstarks, families who had turned on the Starks but were defeated.  But Jon prevailed.  The families would keep their homes, helmed by the young heirs left behind.  The Wildlings would have to seek another place to call their own. 

Jon, always a man of his word, apologized profusely to Tormund for having to change his decree, but the big man understood that these matters were important here in the south.  If need be, he and his people would build their own place, on whatever land the king deigned to give them. 

The Free Folk were used to living out in the elements anyway.

Brienne examined Sansa’s face.  She was not happy with the decision, but to continue the dissension in front of the lords was inappropriate, and would make Jon appear weak in front of his northern subjects, some of whose loyalties were fickle as it was. 

Her eyes landed on Littlefinger.  No doubt he was pleased at the apparent discord between the siblings.  Brienne narrowed her gaze.  Would that she could kill him and be done with it.  He would cause problems in the future.  She just knew it. 

Soon the meeting was dismissed, and everyone went back to their perspective duties. 

Brienne was at a loss, frustrated and frightened all at the same time for Tormund.  Perhaps she should go with him?  No.  Her place was at Sansa’s side, as per her oath to Lady Catelyn.  _Damn!_   There was no help for it.  She needed to get her mind off things. 

Brienne caught Pod’s eye and motioned toward the exit.  It was time for his daily training.

Out in the courtyard, she went through drills with her squire.  He was improving, but he was in no shape to fight any battles any time soon.  Not real ones.  Her movements were more aggressive than usual, unwittingly taking her frustrations out on the young man. 

As she was coaching him on some aggressive forms, the object of her vexation came into view.  Tormund, his usual smirk in place, came into the courtyard.  He had been looking for her, it would seem.  She glared at him.  How could he be happy for a decision that would take him from her side?

Suddenly, she felt the hard impact of a practice sword against her shoulder.  Swinging her head, Brienne pinned Pod with a death stare.  How dare he strike her while she was distracted?  She quickly struck him in the chest and flung him to the ground with a growl, loathe to compliment him on doing what any warrior would do to an opponent who failed to pay attention.

Tormund cast an amused gaze at the unfortunate squire foundering in the snow.  “You’re a lucky man,” he told Pod, who definitely didn’t feel that way.  The lad climbed slowly to his feet, dusted himself off, and left to heal his wounded pride. 

Brienne lowered her sword and turned away under the pretense of straightening the practice swords on their rack.  Tormund approached her from behind, intent on wrapping his arms around her. 

He was stopped though, when she tossed him one of the swords.  He was just able to catch it and get it in proper hand before she began swinging.  He managed to parry, and back pedaled as his love advanced on him like a hungry bear.

“You’re angry,” he observed.

“And what gave you that impression?” Brienne asked, her heavy breaths fogging the air around her as she continued to swing.  She struck his sword twice.  “It isn’t as though you will be _leaving_ me, putting yourself in danger _yet again_ while I sit here, safe behind walls, wondering if you will ever return.”

“My lady-“ he began, intent on making a joke to lighten the mood, but he had to focus on defending himself.  She was swinging for keeps, anger powering her blows.  If he didn’t pay attention, she’d injure him with her dull blade. 

She finally relented after a while, her shoulders heaving with exerted breaths, and walked back to the sword rack.  She busied herself setting things to right that were already so.  Tormund knew Brienne was agitated, but he approached her nonetheless.  He had to get through to her.

He stopped her movements, his arms draped about her.  She must have let him, because he knew that doing so would not have happened easily if Brienne were averse to it.  He turned her around to face him.  “Love, you know I must do my duty, just like you.  Jon has been a good friend to me and mine.  The things he did for my people…no one else would have done that for us.  I owe him a great debt.”

It was true.  Jon Snow had saved the Wildlings from certain destruction by letting them cross the Wall.  He’d done this thing when everyone else at Castle Black, and no doubt everyone south of the Wall, had been against it.  She’d heard that he’d suffered for his decision, though she knew not the details. 

The Wildlings did owe him, and Brienne had learned from her association with him that Tormund was not the sort of man to let a friend in need go unaided.

She sighed, resigned.  Turning in his arms and lacing her own about his neck, she stared into his eyes, seeing the love for her shining hotly despite the cold.  Those green orbs told her all she needed to know.  Tormund would never needlessly put himself at risk.  All he did was to keep her, and everyone else he cared for, safe.

“Just come back to me,” she said softly, leaning in for a kiss, which he gladly gave. 

When they separated, he grinned at her.  “I’m not gone yet, love.  We still have our goodbyes to say.  And think about it.  Being apart will make it even better when I return.”  His eyes gleamed with promise of pleasures to come.  One of his hands slid down her back to her backside, the large paw warming her even through her armor.

Brienne pushed away from him, her face hot and surely red as a harvest apple.  Even with all the intimacy they had shared thus far, Tormund managed to make her feel like a blushing virgin all over again.

The Wildlings would leave two days hence.  That was all the time Brienne would have with her man.  She thought on this as she trudged up the stairs to join Sansa, who was watching all the preparations being made. 

Littlefinger stood by her side, no doubt whispering lies and machinations in her ear.  Brienne felt her stomach turn.  Just as she arrived, he left, giving them each a “milady” before taking the route from which she’d just come.  She and her lady watched him go.  “Why is he still here?” Brienne asked, once he was out of earshot.  She saw no reason for the castle to continue to be infested with a rat such as him.

“We need his men,” Sansa explained.  “Without the Vale, Ramsey Bolton would still hold this castle.”  It was true enough.  But Brienne was tired of him, tired of looking at his deceptive, scheming face.  She would much rather put a sword through him and be done with it.

“He wants something,” she warned her lady.

“I know exactly what he wants,” Sansa responded, her blue eyes cold as the Winter that surrounded them, her face emotionless.  Brienne noted this as she looked at her charge, her heart sinking for innocence lost, its departure painted all over her lady’s countenance.

Sansa was no longer a naïve little girl.

* * *

The day went on uneventfully.  Tormund consulted with Jon and his Wildlings about what would be expected of them and which people would go to whichever castle.  They tried to make each assignment equal, but there were only so many Wildlings of fighting condition to utilize.

By evening, they had allocated enough to satisfy both John and Tormund, and the strategy meeting dispersed without objection.  Tormund made his way up to the quarters he shared with Brienne, hoping she would be there and in a good mood.  He was randy, and wanted a taste of his intended.

He found her sitting at her desk, clothed in a dressing gown, a writing quill in her hand.  Her face was etched with concentration as Tormund entered.  He set his weapons down first then set to disrobing.  She continued to write, her hand moving swiftly over the parchment.

Whomever she was writing, the letter could not be filled with good tidings.  Tormund aimed to turn her taciturn expression into one of pleasure.  Sidling up behind her, he placed his large hands onto Brienne’s shoulders.

“Hello, love,” he murmured seductively, but Brienne shook his hand off. 

“Stop,” she murmured, distracted.  She shifted closer to the desk and resumed her task.  “Can’t you see I am busy?” she asked in a put upon tone. 

Tormund, puzzled by her rejection, looked over her shoulder at elaborate markings on the sheet that were all but foreign to him.  He’d seen Jon composing much the same during his time with him.  “Who are you writing?” he finally enquired.

“My father,” Brienne answered.  “I write to tell him we are arrived safe and, among other things, what is transpiring here in the North.  I am tardy notifying him, so I must concentrate.”

He understood.  This was important.  Tormund would never seek to interfere with her communication with her father.  Lord Selwyn had been kind to him after all.  His libido could wait, though not for too long.

“Alright, love,” he muttered, settling back against the down pillows and shutting his eyes.  He half dozed, his mind going in and out of consciousness, before he heard a small commotion by Brienne.  Peaking, he saw that she was setting her things aside.  His blood heated with excitement, but he quickly closed his eyes, feigning sleep. 

He would make her work for his attentions tonight, if only slightly.

She approached the bed slowly.  “Tormund?” she called quietly.  He tried not to smirk.  Adding a slight snore to be more believable, he waited until she leaned in closer.  She touched his forehead gently.  Perhaps he had fallen asleep waiting for her?

Disappointment gripped her.  Mayhap he was tired from the day of preparation.  Though it pained her, she would let him sleep.  Sighing, she made to lie down beside her betrothed, but before she could do so, she felt his large, strong hands clasp her hips, lifting her from the ground. 

In an instant, she was beneath him on the bed, his wolfish grin betraying his deception.  Brienne harrumphed.  “You!” she began, but Tormund wasted no time smashing his mouth upon hers, effectively silencing her.

“You made me wait too long, wife,” Tormund growled when he released her lips, his hands busy beneath her dressing gown.  His thick fingers found her wet and warm, despite her put out expression.

“I am not yet your wife,” Brienne gasped, though her stomach filled with warmth at his use of the title.  If only it could be granted her before he left her side for the Wall.

Tormund all but ripped the gown from her in his haste.  Throwing the intrusive garment aside, he filled his hands with her ample breasts.  “You are my wife, in every way that matters.”  He stopped any further discussion then as he suckled her hungrily, causing her to moan and writhe.

His teeth grazed her turgid flesh as his fingers invaded and probed her quivering womanhood.  His mouth released her at last, making its way lower, to a more engaging location.  Brienne gazed at the ceiling before closing her eyes just as her lovers tongue lanced her opening.

“Mmm,” Tormund purred.  “I’ve missed your taste.”  He buried his face further, his hands spreading her thighs wide as he made himself comfortable against the softness of the bed.  He would eat his fill, and all Brienne could do was lie there and take his oral assault. 

On and on he went, until she climaxed once, twice, again and again.  Brienne thought she would die for the pleasure of it, and try as she might to stifle them, her cries resounded against the walls of their room.  Tormund was relentless, and she could not help but wonder if his fervor was brought on by the belief this would be the last time they would share such moments.

She quickly banished such thoughts.  He _would_ return to her.  She knew it.  He was too stubborn, too tricky to leave her so soon after coming into her life and giving it meaning.

Her mind blanked as her betrothed brought her to yet another peak.  Her back arched, and her legs, useless and liquid, erupted into spasms as her breathes stuttered from her lungs.

Tormund gave her little time to recover.  Strong hands flung her onto her stomach, gripping her hips and pulling her up to her knees.  She had only a moment to understand his intentions before she was filled to overflowing with his thick length, stealing her breath from her.

“Ah,” Tormund sighed against her nape.  “There it is.”  His fingers held her in a grip of steel, holding them tightly together, not yet moving.  “Slick as a baby seal,” he said breathlessly.  He pulled back, his eyes watching as his length emerged from Brienne’s swollen, flushed nether lips, shiny with her essence. 

He pushed in, paused, pulled out slowly, and then plunged home, harder this time, drawing a cry from her.  He did so a few more times, before beginning a rhythm, pulling her back hard against his every thrust.  Brienne mewled, her arms giving way, lowering her upper body to the furs as Tormund’s hips pounded into hers, the bed jarring from his movements.

“Gonna give you a baby tonight,” he grunted, his voice labored but confident.  Brienne hardly heard him as she hurtled toward yet another climax.  In the end, Tormund wrung two more from her before he finally thrust deep and spilled his hot seed with a loud groan.

Their breaths were labored as he finally drew her down with him onto the bed, pulling her back against his chest, their bodies still intimately joined.  Soft kisses against her nape and ear lulled her to sleep. 

Tormund dozed as well but not for long.  Brienne was awakened during the night, her betrothed taking her repeatedly.  He finally fell into heavy slumber himself, his large, sweat-soaked body drying in the warm fire-fed air of their chamber.

Brienne clutched his arm as it held her to him, her mind on his earlier comment, the one she had just barely registered about him giving her a baby.  She recollected a conversation they had had a fortnight ago.

Tormund had come into their chamber just as she was imbibing the contraceptive herb she had obtained from the maester in Molestown.  His expression had turned pensive, prompting Brienne to ask him his thoughts.

“Do you have to keep on with that?” he asked her in a careful tone.  “We are back at Winterfell, safe behind the walls you southerners love.  My people and others are here, people who would all protect you with me.   Would it be so bad for us to have a babe?”

Brienne shook her head.  “Indeed we are safe.  But for how long?”  She sighed.  “Tormund, you know very well the threat we all face.  With all that, we are in more need of warriors than ever before, and I _am_ a warrior.  What good will I be to anyone if I am laid abed with child?”

Her betrothed had frowned at her.  “I would protect you and our pup,” he replied lowly.  “Isn’t that enough?”

A few days later, when Brienne had meant to take the herb again, she had looked at the tincture, her thoughts wandering before she returned the pouch to her effects and left her chambers…without consuming them. 

It had seemed foolish at the time, and Brienne had nearly returned to do what her sensible mind had screamed at her to do.  But who knew what the future would bring, she’d thought.  What if Tormund died in their war against the dead?  What if this time was the only chance they would have to conceive?  A baby would be all she had left of him.

Of course, that had been before Tormund’s sudden assignment to Eastwatch.  Was she being foolish?

Brienne thought on this as she lay, her lover’s snores bringing a smile to her lips.  She pictured a boy or girl, ruddy-cheeked and ginger-haired like their father, or more like her, towheaded and blue-eyed.  Such a child would grow strong and thick of bone and would surely become a warrior just like his parents. 

It was this thought, free of worries and dread of the future but for a moment, that finally carried Brienne off to sleep.

* * *

The next day was again uneventful aside from the usual preparations and training.  It all passed as a blur to Brienne, her heart filling with more and more dread with each passing hour racing toward her separation from Tormund.

No one seemed to understand her distress, her despair.  They all went about the day as if everything was normal while she felt as if her very life would be torn from her soon.  She looked up from cleaning her blade to see Pod staring at her, an oddly conspiratorial expression on his face.

“What is it?” Brienne demanded. 

The lighthearted expression died immediately.  “It’s nothing, my lady,” he assured, returning to cleaning his own sword with increased dedication. 

 _How odd_ , she thought to herself, but let the matter be.  Truth be told, she’d gotten similar looks all day from different people, from retainers to other warriors, including Wildlings.  Was something amiss? 

She soon disregarded her concerns, attributing the oddity to the state of events and the hardships everyone would soon face, and returned to her own business.

Later that evening, she returned to her quarters after finishing a training session with Podrick and others who had asked to learn from her, her muscles sore.  She had intended to call for a bath to be drawn, but when she entered it was to find a surprise.

A gown, its blue hue reminding her of her home on the Sapphire Isle, sat pristinely on her bed.  She approached it, her hand going out to touch the soft fabric.

“Do you like it?”

Brienne startled as she heard Lady Sansa’s voice behind her.  She turned to see the girl at her door, her hair styled beautifully, her body adorned in a lovely dress of pale green.  “I had it specially made for you.” 

Sansa stepped aside as retainers brought in a tub and buckets of hot water to draw a bath.  “Wash.  We have a special occasion to attend.”

Frowning, Brienne stared at her lady.  “What occasion, my lady?”

Sansa dismissed her concerns.  “Don’t worry.  It is a happy affair, and one to which you do not want to be late.  Here.”  She closed the door behind the departing servants, who had finished drawing the bath.  “I will assist you personally.”

Brienne was flustered.  “Oh, no, my lady!  Do not trouble yourself on my account.  I can bathe on my own.”

But Sansa ignored her protests.  “Nonsense.”  Soon the warrior found herself disrobed and submerged in her bath, Sansa helping her lather and rinse her hair before brushing it to a golden shine as Brienne scrubbed her skin. 

Clean and dried, her lady helped Brienne on with her gown and rubbed scented oils into her skin.  She clucked at her hair.  “Why do you not let it grow out?” she groused.  “I have no doubt you would look beautiful with long hair.”

Brienne shook her head.  “It would only interfere with combat.”  She let Lady Sansa help her into her cloak.  They would be heading outside apparently.

Finally ready, Sansa ushered Brienne out, and together they left the main keep.  As they walked on, Brienne realized where they were going, towards the Starks’ ancestral Godswood.  But why would they be…

A small host was gathered there, including Jon.  The King inclined his head when he saw her, smiling happily.

Her squire wore the colors of his house, a purple and gold garment she’d never seen before.  Pod’s sweet face, one too gentle for one of House Payne, was adorned with his usual genuine smile.  He gave Brienne a shy wave as she passed, which she returned.

Many Wildlings were in attendance, and they smiled at her as she approached.  Some of the noble lords were there also, their faces awkward but not unwelcoming.

She spied the maester, the links of his chain glinting off the lights provided by the many torches lit about the area, the red leaves of the Weirwood gleaming like specters of blood in the night.  Whatever occasion this was, it was an important one.  She got closer, and then…

There was Tormund.  He was dressed in similar garb to the one he’d donned when they had left on their journey south to see her Lord Father.  He looked splendid in a similar shade of blue to her own clothing, and his smile shown like the sun on his face, his eyes full of love and devotion to her as always. 

_Wait a minute…_

Brienne’s eyes flashed to Sansa, who smiled knowingly.  “Your betrothed leaves for the Wall tomorrow, does he not?  I thought it would be nice for us all to gather for one last joyous occasion, to drink and celebrate while we can.  Was I wrong?”

Brienne felt tears spring to her eyes as she stared at the Stark girl, who, at some time or another, had become more her friend than her charge.  Brienne nodded, struck speechless as emotion clutched her throat. 

Yes, this was what she had wanted, though she had been content to wait.  With all that was happening, she had thought her marriage to be of little importance.  They had a war to prepare for after all.

But when her gaze swung back to her love, all of those reservations melted away.  Aside from her lord father being absent, everything here was perfect.  Brienne hugged Sansa, ever grateful to her for pulling everything together.

Sansa released her, her eyes suspiciously shiny in the firelight.  “Go,” she said with a smile.

Brienne took her place at Tormund’s side, smiling up at him.  “You look pretty,” Tormund murmured to her in a voice meant for their ears alone.  “You're already mine.  But this is your way, so I’ll do it.  Then everyone will know.”

She blushed under the intensity of his stare.  They finally broke eye contact as the maester began the words that would bind her and Tormund for life.

* * *

The hall was bright with celebration and revelry.  Music was played, and the walls of House Stark were filled with joy as its people forgot the troubles of tomorrow to live for today and be merry. 

Brienne sipped a bit of wine, savoring the taste on her tongue.  She would not indulge too much, for she wanted to be fresh in the morning, but she enjoyed herself nonetheless. 

Tormund had joined his fellow Wildlings in a corner of the hall to have some of their celebratory drink, which, she thought with a lurching stomach, probably consisted of that fermented goat’s milk they loved so much.

His people had poked fun at his garb, but he had taken it all in stride, laughing along with them.  Brienne had been entertained by stories told by the maester and the Onion Knight, both of whom were thoroughly drunk.  The two laughed together, their arms hooked as they continued drinking.

“You looked so lovely tonight,” Sansa said softly.  She had forgone alcohol, but was content with the sight of her people in a state of true happiness, however brief.  “It was a pleasure surprising you tonight.”

Speaking of surprises…Brienne cast a quick glance around the hall before leaning in to speak quietly.  “Where is Lord Baelish?” she asked Sansa.  Though she had no desire to see that man’s face, it was always best to keep one such as he in sight.

“Don’t sully the occasion with thoughts of him,” Sansa answered.  “For all his faults, Littlefinger is smart enough to know when his company would be especially unwelcome.  He is confined to his quarters.  I made sure to post guards outside his chambers as well, lest he get up to his…mischief.”

Brienne nodded.  Good.  He needed to be watched closely. 

The hairs on the back of her neck rose.  She could always sense when she was being watched, and she knew exactly who to attribute this feeling too.

Her eyes turned to meet the intensity of her new husband’s.  He made no attempt to hide his concupiscence, and Brienne shivered at the thought of what he had in store for their wedding night.

As if sensing the couple’s thoughts, a cry arose, signifying the bedding ceremony.  Brienne found herself borne up onto the shoulders of two knights, who began to carry her toward the door leading to the bedchambers and no doubt her marriage bed. 

She looked about for her husband, laughing, but a commotion arose when they attempted to do the same of Tormund, who bellowed in outrage and swung at the closest man trying to accost him.  He then made his way to her, the crowd clearing out of his way for fear of the consequences.

She was promptly plucked from the clutches of her would-be carriers, only to find herself settled over her husband’s shoulder.  He would bear her to their chambers himself, much to the delight of the Free Folk in attendance.  They whooped and called out to him as he left the great hall.

Taking the stairs two at a time, the sounds of the party soon faded, shut behind the heavy door to their chambers.  Tormund barred the door before setting Brienne gently on her feet. 

For a moment, they simply stared at one another.  The rough, raw love in Tormund’s eyes brought tears to Brienne’s, and she hastily wiped them away when they tried to fall.  This was a joyous occasion, and she would not mar it by crying.

Tormund cupped her face in both hands.  “You are so beautiful, my lady.  My wife.”  His lips, gentle and soft, kissed her forehead, her temples, her cheeks, her chin, and finally, her lips.  The kiss was deep, more exploratory than passionate, and Brienne gripped his wrists as he continued to cup her face.

When he finished, he stepped back to look at her dress.  Wordlessly, he brought his hands to her shoulders, turning her around so he could unclasp the stays at her back.  As the dress loosened, he turned her around and pulled at the fabric around her neck.

She in turn brought her hands to his tunic.  Together, they undressed each other.  Soon, they were naked, their bodies molded together as though one.  He eased her onto the bed, his movements gentle and loving.

Brienne had never seen him so gentle.  It was as though he wanted to convey his affection for her through touch, and the consideration he took with her was completely moving.  He kissed away the tears that fell.

She held him to her.  “I love you,” she whispered.  “I will always love you, Tormund.”

He smiled against her skin, and proceeded to make love to her throughout the night, their passion tempered by their love for each other.

* * *

Morning came all too soon, and Brienne stood at the gates of Winterfell along with Jon, lady Sansa, Podrick, and a group of Stark Soldiers and Knights of the Vale as the Wildlings set off for the wall, Tormund at their lead. 

Brienne had dreaded this moment from the instant she’d heard Jon’s request.  Even now she struggled not to collapse under the weight of loss and worry she felt for her husband, who would be miles away, possibly facing his most dangerous foes ever.

He had held her close, taking in her scent and feeling the softness of her hair against his face.  “Don’t worry,” he had reassured her.  “With a woman like you waiting here for me, why would I die?”  She’d tried to smile, but couldn’t quite pull it off.

“I love you, my lady.” he’d finally said.  “I _will_ see you again.  Keep yourself safe, until I can come back and take over.”  He’d then kissed her to within an inch of her life, setting his forehead against hers for an instant before mounting the wagon that would take him north.

Sansa’s arm was locked with hers, and she stood in silent support of her protector.  Brienne held strong, her face sad but composed, until Tormund and his people were finally out of sight.  Then her knees gave way as all her worries returned to her with a vengeance. 

What would she do if something happened to him?  What if she never saw him again?  These questions repeatedly assaulted her mind, and Brienne knew with certainty in her heart that she would never love again.

Sansa had reacted quickly, helping her to her feet.  The two had retired to her quarters, Sansa holding Brienne as she shed wretched, heart-rending tears.  After a time, she was finally able to compose herself, and she apologized profusely to her lady.

Sansa had assured her that she had done nothing wrong, and was happy to grant Brienne leave to return to her chambers, where she’d fallen into a dreamless, exhaustive sleep.

That evening, her bed felt devoid without her husband.  His scent still lingered in the bedclothes, and Brienne was comforted by this, as if his arms were still wrapped around her.  Had they made it to Eastwatch yet?  Were they safe? 

She tried to quiet her mind, finally lying down to await the temporary solace of sleep.  Tomorrow she would throw herself into her tasks.  Purpose would keep the horrors of her mind at bay.  She could not keep crying like a babe denied the breast.

_A babe…_

Brienne’s hand unconsciously went to her belly, and her thoughts turned in a different direction.  She had ceased taking the herbs.  Tormund’s words came back to her like a flood. 

_Gonna give you a baby tonight._

Could she, even now, be carrying Tormund’s child?  Brienne smiled to herself, foolishly hoping beyond hope that his seed had found purchase within her womb.  She wanted more than anything to have his child, a piece of him should the unthinkable happen.

But could she really be happy without him?  No.  It was impossible.  For the first time in her life, the gods had sent her someone who made her feel beautiful and loved. 

He _had_ to come back to her, after all this was over.  Brienne curled in on herself, pulling the furs closer to her body.  With or without his child, she had to have Tormund by her side.  He had to return to her.

He just _had_ to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Brienne doesn't seem too sappy, but I would imagine she would be pretty devastated at the thought of losing Tormund after all they've been through. Please let me know what you think!


End file.
